Oneshots
by Dalton-Dragon
Summary: Collection of various oneshots for QLFC, individual story information inside.
1. Sprouting Friendship

**"Friends Are The Family We Choose For Ourselves"**

_**Summary:** "Do you like plants, Neville?" Pomona inquired as she handed him the cup, almost accidentally spilling it on him because he wasn't paying attention. He nodded._  
_**Prompt(s):** A cross-generational friendship_  
_**Rating:** K, __**Genre:** Friendship, __**Characters:** Pomona Sprout, Neville Longbottom_, _**World:** Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:** 1,439_  
_**Beta:** TheNextFolchart_

_**Notes: **The word count is without the author's note as it reads in Doc Manager. This is my first time uploading anything I've written so I hope you like it  
_

* * *

**Sprouting Friendship**

* * *

Pomona Sprout hummed away to herself happily as she tottered about in the greenhouses, making sure the Puffapods were all set for tomorrow's lesson with her Third Years and that the Asphodel were getting enough light because the Venomous Tentacula had grown larger then she'd anticipated at this stage of the year. There was so many different aspects to think about when caring for so many varieties of plants to ensure they all grew healthy enough for her classes. It was hard work, but she smiled to herself; who was she kidding? She wouldn't have it any other way.

"Trevor!" a boy's voice called abruptly, and she paused in surprise. "Trevor! Trevor!"

The voice seemed to be coming toward the greenhouses rather than getting farther away. She shuffled out of the greenhouse and peered around the corner. One of the Gryffindor First Years—the clumsy one—was meandering his way around, still calling for this Trevor. Was there even a 'Trevor' in his year? The school year had only just started, so she was still learning the names of the new students. At any rate, she couldn't see any reason why he would be hanging around the greenhouses on a Sunday. The boy ducked into one of the greenhouses and Pomona headed over worriedly. There was a reason she liked to keep the First Year more theoretical.

"Trev-"

"Boy," Pomona called as she poked her head in the door. The boy jumped and spun to face her fearfully. "Come now, it's not safe for you in there."

"I-I know, that's why I'm staying well away from the Fanged Geraniums," the boy stammered out nervously.

"Yes, well Trevor's clearly not in there so if you could—wait, what did you say?" Pomona changed her sentence halfway through as she realized he'd said something Herbology-related that was actually correct.

The boy must've misunderstood her question completely, though, because he started blubbering. "I-I'm r-really s-sorry, I jus-just was looking f-for Trevor and I thought h-he mi-might be in here because—pl-please d-don't expel me."

"Oh dear boy, I'm not going to expel you. Calm down. I just don't want you to get hurt," Pomona assured him gently as she approached the boy, putting an arm around him to navigate him out of the greenhouse. "Come on now, we'll find Trevor. Let me get you a cup of tea and you can tell me all about it, Mr…?"

"Neville Longbottom," the boy sniffed and she cringed inwardly at his unfortunate name; it _would_ be Neville. "And thank you."

"No problem at all, my dear," Pomona insisted as she continued to guide him to her office. "So this Trevor you're looking for, why did you think he'd be in the greenhouses?"

"Because he likes Shrivelfigs," Neville said simply and she actually stopped in surprise.

"What kind of boy likes Shrivelfigs?"

"Trevor's a toad."

"Oh, right. That makes much more sense," Pomona admitted. She started moving again before something else struck her as odd. "Wait, what kind of a _toad_ likes Shrivelfigs?"

Neville laughed.

"Well no matter, we'll track down this toad," Pomona assured him, pleased the boy was in better spirits.

They reached her quaint, comfortable office, and Pomona started busying herself with preparing the tea. She turned back to Neville to see he was wandering around her office, admiring the various plants crowding virtually every surface in the room. She brought the tray over to the desk, pleased to find just enough space to wedge it between her favourite shrub and a stack of homework she still needed to mark. Neville sat down politely on the other side of her desk. When she started pouring the tea, she saw he seemed far more interested in her shrub.

"Do you like plants, Neville?" Pomona inquired as she handed him the cup, almost accidentally spilling it on him because he wasn't paying attention. He nodded. "Any idea what kind of plant that is?"

"No," Neville said quickly as he took the cup, "I erm… I mean I think it could err… maybe possibly be some kind of a shrub?"

"Absolutely correct!" Pomona praised him and Neville gave a sheepish smile. "You were right, you shouldn't be afraid to have a go. You just need to be a bit more confident."

"Well, I don't know everything," Neville pointed out, his smile deflating. "I don't know what kind of shrub it is."

"Well of course you don't, no one does. That's the point of Herbology class, to learn what you don't know," Pomona assured him. Neville sipped his tea thoughtfully. "And for future reference, it's a Self-Fertilising Shrub, and… well, its name kind of gives away what it does."

"It can make its own fertiliser?" Neville looked impressed, and not put off in the slightest.

Pomona grinned as she launched into an explanation to a student who was actually interested in hearing about her passion. She had a good feeling about this boy.

"Oh!" Neville cried abruptly, interrupting her mid-sentence and slapping a hand to his face. "I just remembered, I had last had Trevor down in the dungeons for Potions!" He jumped to his feet and bolted to the door, almost knocking over her shrub in his haste. Pomona heard the skidding of his footsteps before he poked his head back in the doorway.

"I'm really sorry, Professor, we should do this again sometime but I just really have to go ge-"

"It's fine, dear," Pomona assured him with a wave of her hand for him to go on. "Get your toad."

"Thank you, Professor Sprout!" Neville blurted out gratefully before tearing away again. Pomona sighed, shaking her head fondly at his forgetfulness as she sipped her tea.

* * *

_Many years later__…_

* * *

"Here, let me get that," Neville offered helpfully.

Pomona moved aside readily to let him make the tea, shuffling over to her desk to rest her aching feet. And knees. And back. And whatever else part of her old bones felt like aching these days. She sighed to herself; she was getting too old for this. She was finding it harder to enjoy teaching her classes these days. Bustling about on her feet all day and spending her nights squinting at handwriting on homework was becoming too much to her. She was exhausted just caring for the plants, and the new school year hadn't even started yet.

"Thank you, Neville dear," Pomona said gratefully as the boy—or rather, _man_, as he was grown now—came back over with the tray of tea. She still liked this part of the job: keeping in touch with her favourite subjects.

"Professor?"

Pomona realized she'd been so distracted that she'd almost spilled the cup.

"So you were saying?" Pomona prompted, wanting to continue the discussion and forget her clumsiness as she sipped her drink.

"I was saying…? Oh yeah," Neville recalled after a moment's thought as he idly stirred his own drink, looking conflicted. "It's not like I don't _want_ to be an Auror anymore, I know it's important what we do and all but… Well, we _have_ pretty much taken down most of the Death Eaters who evaded arrest after the Battle of Hogwarts, so the worst is over with. And I—I don't know if this sounds selfish, but I _am_ a father now, and every time I go out there I feel afraid of something happening to me. I just don't want my son to grow up like I did. Children should be able to know their parents."

"You're not selfish," Pomona assured him as she patted his hand comfortingly. "It's okay to feel like that. You've done more than your fair share in making the world safe over the years. You deserve to be able to enjoy that safe world with your son."

"Thank you." Neville smiled sheepishly. "Of course there's the other problem, if I _do_ quit being an Auror then I still need to something. Preferably not just work at Hannah's pub."

Pomona felt as if someone had just cast _Lumos_ in her brain.

"Do you like plants, Neville?" Pomona inquired, and her former student looked at her in surprise before nodding suspiciously at the very obvious question. "In that case, there's a career in Herbology opening up that you might be interested in."


	2. Fire Burns

**"Simple Poetry Competition"**

_**Summary:**__ the flames burn so bright_:  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Relationships, fire_  
_**Rating:**__ T, __**Genre:**__ Poetry, __**Characters:**__ [Draco Malfoy x OC]_, _**World:**__ Post-Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 212_  
_**Beta:**__ natida  
_

_**Notes: **__I have this weird head canon that after Hogwarts Draco dated a muggle to get away from it all but couldn't get over his prejudice and ultimately chose his family/upbringing over love. This poem is about that relationship  
_

* * *

**Fire Burns  
**

* * *

The boy with the mark  
sits alone in the dark.  
Brown meets gray,  
igniting a spark  
of desire in his heart.  
He never thought he'd see the day  
when he would feel this way,  
all his shadows locked away,  
scowls turns to smiles;  
he laughs all the while.

Even despite  
an issue not slight  
the flames burn so bright:  
in her flesh he finds love's delight,  
so very wrong yet also blissfully right  
Shades of amber, crimson gold, even white  
bathe the entirety of his world in a glorious light.  
They laugh, dance, kiss, they talk long into the night,  
but if you bathe in the flames, you're in for a fright;  
you'll feel the cruel sting of the fire's sharp bite.  
A final fierce blaze before creeps in the blight;  
they scream, they yell, they always fight.  
His world once more is set alight,  
it wouldn't ever be alright.  
She takes her flight.

Her blood was foul,  
smiles turn to scowls.  
All his shadows out to play,  
no joy keeps them at bay.  
He never thought he'd see the day.  
Muggle scum. He did his part.  
Embers die without a spark,  
black meets gray.  
The boy with the mark  
cries alone in the dark.


	3. Bound

**"Not Your Average OTP Round"**

_**Summary:**__ "We're supposed to deal with crap like this together, not just stick around for the good stuff. Why did you marry me if you want us to deal with our problems alone?"_  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Write about your OTP having an argument_  
_**Rating:**__ T, __**Genre:**__ Hurt/Comfort, Romance, __**Characters:**__ [Remus Lupin x Nymphadora Tonks]_, _**World:**__ Books, Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 1,617_  
_**Beta:**__ TheNextFolchart  
_

* * *

**Bound**

* * *

The werewolf stirred in the silence, the heavy lids slowly dragging themselves off his eyes to give him a bleary look at the dusty floorboards he was lying on. Remus felt as if he was waking from a deep sleep; from the waves of sunlight streaming in through the battered curtains he'd guess it was far from morning. Tiredness gnawed at his eyelids but he knew he couldn't let himself slip back or he'd be out all day. He had to get back home to his wife—if he even still _had_ a wife, as he wasn't sure she'd be too pleased that he'd taken off without telling her. What choice had he had though, really? Wolfsbane or not, he wasn't safe to be around on that night.

He slowly uncurled his body, cringing as his aching body protested against movement so soon after the agonizing transformation the full moon wrought. He pulled himself up too quickly and fell back on all fours as specks danced before his eyes, threatening to engulf his mind in darkness. He waited for it to pass before trying to stand again, this time going more slowly, and successfully managed to remain upright even though his legs were trembling from the effort of holding him. His head felt like it had been replaced with an anvil; just turning it caused him to sway on his feet.

He blinked a few times to wake himself more, his sluggish mind catching up to what he was seeing: a bed, stripped bare but for the mattress, with his clothes folded neatly on top of it. He staggered over to it and half-collapsed onto it. Just those few steps left him out of breath. His eyelids tried to close themselves again. He should have stayed on the floor. He couldn't go home like this. He didn't want his wife to see him in such a weakened state.

He snapped his eyes back open, not sure if he'd caught himself before he could fall back asleep or not. He spotted the solid golden band on the top of the pile, and shakily reached out and pushed it back onto his finger where it fitted snugly. He swallowed as he watched the sunlight dancing off it. He missed her. He wondered what she was doing right now. Probably she was at work, since she, unlike him, was actually able to get a job. He had no way to provide for her, nothing to offer her. Nothing but the shameful stigma of being married to a werewolf, anyway. He swallowed, trying to gulp down his guilt.

Remus pulled his body back up into a sitting position and dragged the pile of clothes toward himself. They seemed to be unusually heavy in his weakness. Underwear was a good start, and then trousers. He'd just pulled on his shirt when he heard a bang downstairs from the front door slamming into the wall. Remus felt a stab of panic and grabbed his wand, though he wasn't sure whether he was strong enough to fight off Death Eaters.

"Remus!"

Death Eaters didn't tend to call him by his first name. Or use his wife's worried voice. He relaxed and let his wand drop from his fingers as a new kind of panic took over. She sounded rather upset.

"Remus! Remus! Are you in here?!" Tonks continued to call. A second later the door burst open, revealing his wife. She was looking rather bedraggled, with white hair that seemingly reflecting the anxiety scrawled onto her face, "Remus! Are you alright?"

"Alright?" Remus repeated stupidly, the cogs in his mind still turning slower then usual. "I'm fine. How are you?"

"How am I? I'm worried sick!" Tonks exclaimed, tendrils of green snaking themselves through her hair. "You just take off out of the blue while we're in the middle of a bloody war. I come home from work and you're gone, and I thought something might've happened to you! I've been up all night running myself ragged around all of England looking for you and you're just chilling out here like _nothing__'__s wrong?_"

"Well, it was the full moon," Remus pointed out truthfully. "I thought it went without saying that I'd be gone."

She gaped at him. "What are you talking about? You're on frigging Wolfsbane!"

"That doesn't stop me transforming. I'm still dangerous."

"Why?" Tonks demanded and folded her arms as red bled into her hair. "Were you planning on biting me as a werewolf?"

"What?! No! Of course not!" Remus protested in shock at the question.

"Were you planning on mauling me, then?"

"No! I don't want to hurt you."

"Then you may as well be a puppy for how dangerous you'd be!" Tonks insisted as she threw her arms up in exasperation.

He scowled at her. "Dora, things can go wrong! I'm still not safe to be around." Remus wished she could understand for once. "This is the way it has to be. I'm bound by my condition."

"So your solution is to just leave? Without even telling me?" This time he caught the undertone of hurt in Tonks's words as her hair fell limply around her beautiful face. She held up her hand to show him the wedding ring she wore. "This ring means you're also bound to _me_. And me to you. Turning into a werewolf doesn't change that. We're supposed to deal with crap like this together, not just stick around for the good stuff. Why did you marry me if you want us to deal with our problems alone?"

"I don't, I just… I just want to protect you."

"Well, I want you to be my husband, not my guardian. But if you want to hang out here alone then just hang out here alone." Tonks turned on her heel, stalking back out.

"Dora, wait!"

She didn't wait, and his hasty jump to his feet proved to be too much for his weakened body. A wave of darkness knocked him to the ground with a painful thud.

He groaned as he forced his eyes back open, feeling once again like he was waking up after a long sleep—but in truth he had no idea how long he'd been out, or if he'd even gone unconscious at all. He tried to pick his sore body back up again, his limbs shaking uncooperatively.

And then he felt arms helping him up back onto the bed. He pried his back open wider to see Tonks scooping up the rest of his clothes and his wand; he tried to speak but his mouth was having none of it. She looped his around her shoulders and helped him to his feet again for a split second before they were apparating back to their room at home. She lazily tossed his things aside, knocking over a lamp that she ignored completely as she helped him into their bed.

"You came back," Remus commented sleepily, fighting his body's desire to rest.

Tonks shrugged. She looked unhappy. "Part of marriage is still sticking with you, even when you're being a complete prat." She stalked off again, and Remus tried to protest but he was asleep before the door had closed behind her.

The next time he woke he found cascading shadows instead of sunlight. He was feeling a bit better. He rolled over and was surprised to find the bed empty. He sat up in panic for a moment before his ears picked up the distant sounds of the Weird Sisters playing from downstairs, a sure sign his wife was still here.

He tossed off the covers and followed the sound of the music. The house was messier and more cluttered then he usually let it get; Tonks wasn't as neat as he was. But he loved the mess. It meant she was here.

The source of the music was the living room. Tonks was curled up on the sofa sleeping soundly despite the blaring music in the gloom. He went over and turn it off to give her some quiet to rest.

"Hey, I like that song," Tonks complained in a mumble as she stirred. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him, strands of red sweeping through her bubblegum pink hair. "Oh, are you still here?"

"Yes." Remus went over to sit beside her and tried to form his next words carefully, "I'm sorry, okay? I'm not sorry for trying to protect you, but I'm sorry I didn't tell you where I was going. It didn't even cross my mind. I'm sorry I made you worry about me, Dora. I love you. This marriage is just very new to me."

"It's new to me too, Remus," Tonks admitted as the red faded from her hair, "I want to do it right and try be a good wife. But you make it very difficult when you just up and leave like that. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one trying. I don't want to be alone in this."

"You're not," Remus assured her and pulled her into a hug, holding her close. "I'm with you until death do us part."

"I love you," Tonks whispered and snuggled into him. "Let death try to keep us apart."

"With any luck that won't be for a long time," Remus said as he pulled away and planted a kiss on her lips.


	4. Star Child

**"****A Little Bit Of Deja Vu"**

_**Summary:**__ All seemed well, all was well. Except it wasn't._  
_**Prompt(s):**__ What if one of the Next Generation was born with a mental or physical disability?_  
_**Rating:**__ K+, __**Genre:**__ Angst, Family, __**Characters:**__ Draco Malfoy, Scorpius Malfoy_, _**World:**__ Post-Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 500_  
_**Beta:**__ None_

* * *

**Star Child  
**

* * *

Draco Malfoy was happy to welcome his son and heir to the world, a light in a family so associated with dark. They called him Scorpius Hyperion, their little star named for the stars. There was nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary. He was born on time, average newborn weight; the midwife pronounced him perfectly healthy. All seemed well, all _was_ well.

Except it wasn't.

He didn't know much about babies, he thought his parents were paranoid when they said it was unusual he avoided eye contact or didn't make much sound. So what if Scorpius was a quiet baby? Surely that was a _good_ thing? He did start to worry as the months went by and Scorpius didn't smile. He worried they were doing something wrong, that his son was just unhappy. That seemed the obvious answer to him.

They celebrated his first birthday in silence. Scorpius never smiled at his multitude of gifts, never made a sound. The only thing he liked was a little wooden rattle; he'd stare at it as he shook it back and forth. Over. And over. And over. He didn't respond to his name, he didn't respond when they tried to get his attention or play with him. He just liked to shake his rattle, he'd scream if you took it away.

Draco feared his son may be deaf; Healers assured him Scorpius could hear just fine. One suggested he may have a muggle ailment, Lucius had the man fired. After all, how _dare_ he suggest something so shameful? As if a _muggle_ ailment could afflict their precious _pure-_blooded child. Scorpius was just a little… different.

Scorpius' strangeness only continued as he grew, no matter how much time they spent with him. He didn't like to be hugged or touched, he ignored them when they spoke or played with him. He wouldn't even _look_ at them. He just liked to shake that damned rattle.

Finally Draco couldn't take it anymore; he took the rattle and burned it in searing flames. His son screamed and cried but Draco didn't care, Scorpius was too old for rattles anyway. He hoped it would help, maybe without the rattle Scorpius would start being normal.

At first Draco thought it worked, Scorpius finally spoke his first word even if it was just to repeat what they said. He'd play with other toys, even if all he'd do was shake them to try make a sound. He'd stare at his hands or flap them; his own hands were more interesting than the best toys money could buy.

But it still wasn't normal, Scorpius _wasn't_ normal. Draco accepted that now.

Ultimately the day came when Draco took Scorpius to the Healer, asking about the muggle ailment. Autism, he said it was called but Draco thought it was called something else: Karma. Scorpius paid the price for his family's sins.


	5. Leave Fear

**"Getting Those Feelings Out"**

_**Summary:**__ "Kid, we're all afraid of that," Alastor said. The boy looked up at him, seeming genuinely surprised by the blindingly obvious._  
_**Prompt(s):**_ _Scared, [forbidden: scared]  
**Rating:**__ K+, __**Genre:**__ Angst, General, __**Characters:**__ Alastor Moody, OC_, _**World:**__ Books, Pre-Hogwats, Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 1,406_  
_**Beta:**__ TheNextFolchart  
_

* * *

**Leave Fear  
**

* * *

Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody paced, the electric blue eye that had inspired his nickname skimming the room through the door to get a look at the new recruits. There were about twenty of them that he could see; an impressive number, but not exactly an impressive bunch of mostly-Hogwarts graduates. Sure, it seemed a lot now, but it would whittle down: you'd have the cocky idiots just looking for the Auror title to throw around to look impressive, you'd have those dumb brainiacs who mistakenly thought a few good academic grades translated into skill in the field, and then you'd have those pitiful weaklings who simply couldn't hack it. Even then from those select few who _did_ make it, some would still die.

Deciding enough time had passed, he stormed into the room and fired a curse up at the ceiling. Several screamed, some threw themselves down protectively, a pathetic few fled—one had started crying under a table! And _these_ people wanted to be the ones to protect others from Dark Wizards? _Really_? Only a handful had the presence of mind to draw their wands. He made a mental note to keep an eye on those few, even if one of them was shaking a leaf in a thunderstorm.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Alastor bellowed in his usual growl. Heads swiveled to him, but he was striding to the front of the room where they'd been expecting him to arrive. "It's required for all Aurors—or those seeking to become Aurors, like those of you in this room today. What if I had been a Dark Wizard? A Death Eater? It's an Auror's _job_ to catch Dark Wizards, not to stand there quivering in fear."

"I drew my wand," hissed one of the few who had. Alastor threw him a dark look.

"And I suppose you'll be wanting a medal for that, huh?! Well done!" Alastor applauded the snakelike boy sarcastically. "You did what any bright-eyed eleven-year-old can do! Drawing your wand does nothing if you don't know what to do with it, and standing there staring at the ceiling is _not_ what you do with it. Fancy little hint for you, spell casters don't usually stand on the ceiling firing spells at themselves!"

Looking correctly abashed, the boy hung his head, and Alastor began his introductory lecture on Auror Training. They were down to sixteen already, what with the ones who had run away plus the under-the-table crier he'd already excluded. His eye continued to scour the fresh-faced youngsters. He was still rather disheartened. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was down but not out. Sooner or later he'd make his move, and these people were the Ministry's line of defense? There wasn't a lot in the world that frightened the famous Mad-Eye Moody; the thought of the world being left in the hands of poor unprepared fools—like this bunch—was one of the few things that did.

Alastor had been in this job for far too long. He proved to be spectacularly correct about the wannabe Aurors, and the numbers whittled down as he'd predicted and feared. They were dropping like flies: those who weren't serious about it realized there were easier 'cool' careers they could try for, and those who couldn't handle the mental stress or practical application left quietly. Six months into the program, he was left with just a pitiful five, the majority of whom were the ones who had drawn their wands on that very first day. If he didn't believe Divination was codswallop, he might've been good at it. He still didn't expect all five to graduate to full Auror status.

There was one bundle of nerves in particular whom Alastor kept expecting to drop out. The kid was an ugly-looking bugger with ears that stuck out far enough to be wings, and he seemed to jump at everything in fright. Alastor was at a loss as to why the boy was even there in the first place—or rather, why he was _still_ there. Alastor may have wanted more Aurors out there to protect the world, but he didn't want to send people to die. He had a graveyard inside his mind, filled with the stones of lives he'd taken in one way or another, and his stomach curled up and tried to crawl away at the thought of digging a grave for this boy.

"Nice try, Leaf," Alastor said as he zapped the youth with a spell to untransfigure his pitiful excuse for a disguise. The boy gave a fearful yelp as he reverted back to his ugly appearance. "Might want to do something about those ears if you expect to pass the actual Concealment and Disguise exam."

"My name's not Leaf," the boy said timidly. Alastor was well aware of this; he didn't see the point of learning the full names of potential dropouts so the recruits got nicknames.

"Well, then you might want to stop shaking like one."

"I'm sorry. I get afraid."

"Afraid of _what_?" Alastor had to work hard to resist the urge to add a scathing comment about how this was just training and the _real _work was even harder.

"Of failing." The boy shrugged as if trying to make light of it. "And of being hurt, of dying…"

"Kid, we're _all _afraid of that," Alastor said. The boy looked up at him, seeming genuinely surprised by the blindingly obvious. "But part of what separates Aurors from the rest of the population is the ability to put our fears aside. You're not looking for your own life anymore. You're looking out for _their_ lives. Their needs above your own. If you can't do that, go home and find a new career, because you're only putting their lives and your own at risk by staying on this path."

"Really?"

"No, I thought I'd lie to you for fun! Of course bloody really!" Alastor growled through his sarcasm, and the boy's face went red. "Go home and think about what I said. If you can't handle it then don't waste both our times by coming back in tomorrow."

The next day dawned, and there was no Leaf. Alastor began his lecture to his remaining four trainees . . . only for Leaf to scuttle in late and sit in as if nothing had happened. For once, Alastor let tardiness slide and pretended he hadn't noticed. The boy's nervous disposition hadn't changed overnight, but he seemed to be making an effort to put his fears aside—and the more effort he put in, the more he started to succeed. He lacked the talent of King or the cunning of Snake, but nonetheless, he had heart, and he got through his tests. Alastor was pleasantly surprised to have all five graduate to Auror status.

It didn't last—pleasant surprises never did, in this line of work. Within the first year on the job, two died hunting down Death Eaters from the first war. 'Leaf' was one of them. He died hurt and alone, putting muggle hostages first but failing to capture the Death Eater. Alastor added him to the ever growing mental graveyard.

He found himself once more peering through the wall at the newest batch of recruits: a sorry lot, for the most part, although their numbers included a metamorphmagus by the looks of it. There were fewer people out there than in the last bunch, and considering the usual high percentage of dropouts and the deaths in the line of duty there would likely be even _fewer_ next time.

How many years until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would return? Would there even be _any_ Aurors left to fight against whatever parts of his old, decrepit body still remained? How many years until his own fears were realized just like Leaf's had been? He tried to shove those thoughts aside as he stalked in from the back of the room, firing a curse at the ceiling and sending the new recruits scattering.

Somehow Alastor didn't think he'd be alive to find out what became of it all, and that frightened him more than anything else.


	6. The Boy in the Bonnet

**"******Glory Days**"**

_**Summary:**__ "Sure enough to place a little wager?"_  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Write about your team's chosen character (Sirius Black) in their 1st Year_  
_**Rating:**__ K+, __**Genre:**__ Friendship, Humor, __**Characters:**__ Sirius Black, James Potter I, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans_, _**World:**__ Books, Marauders_  
_**Word Count:**__ 2,885_  
_**Beta:**__ TheNextFolchart_

* * *

**The Boy in the Bonnet  
**

* * *

Sirius Black stood on the platform, bouncing up and down on the balls on his feet in nervous excitement as his eyes drank in the sight of the scarlet steam engine. This was it. He was finally going to Hogwarts—he was finally going to see the world from outside his family's twisted perspective.

"Tsk," his mother said with a disapproving shake of her head. She was standing beside him, his younger brother, Regulus, clutching at her hand and peering out at the world from under his sweeping curtain of raven hair. "And here I was hoping they'd have a more suitably magical means of transportation by the time my boys were starting Hogwarts."

"I like it," Sirius said, to which his mother rolled her eyes.

"Well,_ you_ would."

Sirius rolled his own eyes and bade his family goodbye with much less clinginess than some of the other kids he saw. Was it strange he was looking forward to getting some time away from his mother? As he took his very first steps onto the train, he let out a sigh of relief. After years of hoping and waiting, it was finally _time_.

The magical moment was ruined by the surge of other students also boarding the train. Sirius found himself being shunted out of the way by all the bigger and older students. A particularly tall girl in Ravenclaw robes knocked him into a boy around his own age who was likely experiencing the same problem.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" Sirius and the boy blurted in unison before immediately realizing what they'd done. Both burst out laughing and Sirius offered his hand with a smile. "I'm Sirius."

"James." The boy took his hand before they were jostled by more students. "Blimey, this train is packed. They better have wider corridors at Hogwarts!"

"I'm sure they do. I mean, they must, right?" a squeaky voice offered.

The pair glanced over in unison and found a tall podgy lump of a boy standing beside them with a wavering smile. Though he was clearly a first-year, he was bigger than Sirius in both height and girth, and his standing in the way eased the jostling they were getting.

"I'm sure they do, mate," James said as he reached up to clap the boy on the shoulder in a friendly way. "Now what do you say we go find a compartment to get out of this bustle? You can pick."

The boy's grin solidified. He led the way, his size helping them push through the throng. James tossed Sirius a wink; he had clearly asked the boy for help with this ulterior motive in mind. A second later, James almost tripped over his feet, his head turning so fast that Sirius swore he heard a snap. Sirius glanced in surprise to see what had captured the boy's attention, but he caught only a glimpse of red hair ducking into a compartment.

"Changed my mind. Let's get this one," James said, jabbing his finger toward the compartment. Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Know that girl?"

"No. But I'd like to."

"I thought I was picking," the other boy said sadly.

"I'll make it up to you," James assured him as they headed over to the redhead's compartment. "Tell you what: if we make the same house then I'll show you my deepest secret."

The boy seemed appeased by this. As they reached the compartment, the door slid open before anyone could touch it.

". . . back in a minute, Lily, I just need to go change," a boy's voice said.

"Okay, Severus," a girl's voice came from inside the compartment as a black-haired boy stepped out and closed the door behind him.

'Severus' was wearing ridiculously mismatched clothes, including an odd-looking girlish smock. Sirius couldn't help but snicker. The strange boy threw him a testy glare as he walked by, sniveling and rubbing at his runny nose.

"I do not like that boy," James announced to no one in particular. "What kind of name is Severus?"

"Yeah, more like Snivellus," the taller boy said. Sirius laughed.

"What was your name again?" Sirius asked as James slid open the door and they went inside. The red-haired girl was hunched in the corner with her face pressed against the windowpane.

"I'm Peter Pettigrew," the boy said.

At the sound of his voice, the girl—had Severus called her Lily?—looked up with. "Can't you see this compartment is taken?"

"There're still plenty of empty seats." James tossed himself down by the door. Sirius slumped down across from him, and Peter sat beside James with an apologetic glance to Lily. "Nice to meet you."

Lily rolled her eyes and went back to staring out of the window.

"So . . . what Quidditch teams are you guys into?" Peter asked. It was a surefire way to start a conversation with magical children and effectively snapped up both Sirius and James' attention. They launched into an enthusiastic debate that made Sirius forget about Lily.

Severus returned a few minutes into the conversation, just as Peter was leaving to use the toilet. Now smartly dressed in his school robes, Severus sat down opposite Lily, clearly ignoring the twosome who had invaded his compartment. James and Sirius continued their discussing about who would be at the bottom of the league this season while Severus and Lily the other two conversed on their own.

"You'd better be in Slytherin," Severus was saying, and the sensitive topic of houses—a topic Sirius had been trying not to think about—drew all attention away from Quidditch.

"Slytherin?" James repeated, a look of distaste on his face before turning to Sirius."Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"My whole family have been in Slytherin," Sirius admitted neutrally.

"Blimey," James said, "and I thought you seemed all right!"

"Maybe I'll break tradition." Sirius grinned at the thought of his potential friend still liking him even after the Sorting. "Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"

"Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!" James raised an invisible sword. "Like my dad."

Severus made a small, disparaging noise. Sirius raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to say something, but James beat him to it.

"Got a problem with that?"

"No," Severus said, but his slight sneer made Sirius believe otherwise. He'd seen that sneer before, on the faces of his stuck-up family. "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy."

"Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you're neither?" Sirius couldn't help but utter.

James roared with laughter, and Sirius' smile widened; the other two were not amused. Lily sat up looking rather flushed and looked between the pair of them in dislike. "Come on, Severus, let's find another compartment," Lily said as she stood.

"Oooooo…" James and Sirius said in unison, imitating her lofty voice as the pair passed. James tried to trip Sev—no, wait, what had Peter called him?

"See ya, Snivellus!" Sirius called after them as one of them slammed the compartment door behind them. They were still howling with laughter at their own joke when Peter returned.

"What did I miss?"

"A lot!" James launched into an animated retelling, complete with voices for the characters of Lily and Severus. Peter laughed in all the right places.

"So your whole family has been in Slytherin, huh?" Peter asked Sirius when they had sobered.

"Yep." Sirius cleared his throat and did his best impression of his mother. "'The most noble and ancient house of Black have a long and proud tradition of making Slytherin.'"

The two boys looked at him blankly and Sirius slapped a hand to his face, flushing with embarrassment.

"That's right, you two haven't met my mother so you wouldn't get the impression!"

The two boys laughed then. Sirius buried his face further into his hands but found himself laughing along with them at his own stupidity.

"In all _siriusness_ though—" James started to say before they broke into laughter again. He waved to try and silence them while his own face was red from trying to repress his laughter. "In all—"

"Did you _siriusly_ just try making a joke out of my name?" Sirius sent them back into a fit of giggles.

"Hush, all of you!" James insisted, trying to sober as he waved them to silence again. "In all—not saying the word, but you know what I mean—it's likely that you _are_ going to make Slytherin. So you won't be in my House. Guess only Peter is going to get to know my secret."

"I _could_ break tradition."

"It's not likely, if it's your family House," Peter said.

"I still think I have a shot." Sirius hadn't realized until that moment how much he_ did_ want to break tradition. "I'm not much like my family."

"Everyone says that," James said.

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "I actually am. I _think_ I know my family better than you do."

"Oh, you're sure of that, are you?" James challenged with a smirk. Peter looked between them as if he were afraid they'd start to fight.

"Yeah." Sirius folded his arms.

"Sure enough to place a little wager?"

"I'm listening." A small smile tugged at the corners of Sirius' lips.

James thought for a second. "If you break tradition and get a house other than Slytherin, then I'll show up tomorrow at breakfast wearing an embarrassing hat."

"A bonnet," Peter blurted out, his watery eyes darting between them more eagerly now at the thought of a bet.

James' smirk slipped as he repressed a giggle. "A bonnet would suffice."

"I have to break a centuries-long tradition and all you have to do is wear a stupid hat?" Sirius shook his head. "C'mon, you can do better then that. Why not a dress to go with that bonnet?"

"I have the perfect frock!" Peter said, and the others turned to stare at him."What? My mother is a seamstress, and I help her out sometimes because she can't afford to hire anyone. She gave me some stuff to work on like a frock and a bonnet that you can use for this."

"Okay, fine." James inclined his head. "If you break tradition then I'll wear Peter's mother's monstrosity tomorrow_ but_ if I'm doing that then its only fair for you to _wear_ them if you do make Slytherin."

"If I make Slytherin then I will gladly dishonor their house name by embarrassing the crap out of myself," Sirius agreed, and James held out his hand for them to shake on it.

"I can't wait for tomorrow," Peter said with a grin.

Now he'd made the bet, Sirius found himself feeling quite confident that he would not be the one in a dress tomorrow. The more he thought about it, the more he _knew_ he wasn't going to be a Slytherin. He stood to rummage through his trunk and pulled out the black blank leather-bound book his favorite uncle Alphard had given him. He wasn't sure what to do with it yet, but for now he was going to record their wager.

"What are you doing?" James asked.

"Writing it down to make sure you don't forget about it."

"You'll _wish_ you could forget about it by tomorrow."

"I think you're confusing me with you," Sirius countered, and James looked amused.

The rest of the journey passed pleasantly, with the trio bouncing between teasing about the bet, playing Exploding Snap, and engorging themselves on the supply of sweets they acquired from the Trolley Lady. Sirius was almost disappointed when the train came to a stop and the older students jostled them out into the icy air. The Gamekeeper led them to the boats; Peter got seasick, but it was otherwise an uneventful trip to the magnificent castle.

Time managed to both fly and drag simultaneously as the seconds ticked closer to Sirius' Sorting. Any moment now the world would know whether he was just another faceless Black on the family tree or whether he'd shine on his own, breaking free from the shadow surrounding his name. And so he waited as the names were called up to the stool, and all too quickly…

"Black, Sirius!"

Sirius walked up to the stool, heart pounding against his ribcage and legs trembling. He sat on the old rickety stool, his eyes finding James in the crowd of unsorted first years. Who did he belong with more? Those boys on the train he'd connected and laughed with or his prejudiced family and Slytherins like that Snivellus boy?

The hat dropped onto his head, and before it even said the word, Sirius knew where he belonged.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Sirius smirked at James before rushing to his cheering housemates. The word seemed to continue to ring around in his ears. _Gryffindor._ The smile on his face widened.

Evans, Lily surprisingly made it into Gryffindor, and in the spirit of house unity Sirius made an effort to be nice to her. She brushed him off, apparently still angry about the train ride. Her friend Severus succeeded in making Slytherin, while Sirius' own friends both joined him in Gryffindor.

"So Lily, looks like we both made Gryffindor, huh?" James commented with a friendly smile.

Lily looked up from her food, glared at him pointedly then went back to eating. James caught Sirius eye and nudged his head at her in disbelief. Sirius held out his empty hands to indicate he had no explanation. With a shrug, James turned to the boy next to him—another first year, small and sickly-looking with brown hair and scars down his face. "Hi, I'm James. James Potter. Nice to meet you…?"

"Remus Lupin," the boy muttered and continued eating with barely a glance. James threw his hands up in exasperation once more.

"Such a friendly bunch," James said sarcastically. Sirius and Peter snickered.

"Maybe they'll be friendlier when you look like a girl," Sirius said. Peter nearly chocked on his food laughing while James' face flushed red and Remus actually glanced with a hint of curiosity before hastily going back to his food. "You haven't forgotten about that, have you? I wrote it down if you'd like to have your memory jogged."

"I remember," James said, and Sirius smirked in amusement.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly. The food was delicious and the company was good, in spite of the few grumpy gremlins at the table. "What's that secret you were going to show me if I ended up in the same house as you?" Peter asked James as they made their way up to the Gryffindor dormitory after dinner.

James looked around carefully. "It's just an old cloak I got from my dad," he said. "I'll show you when nobody's around."

Sirius dove onto a bed, effectively claiming it as his own. "Unless it turns you invisible, it's not going to do any good when you're wearing Peter's frock in the morning."

James rolled his eyes and headed for the bathroom. "Goodnight, Sirius."

Sirius woke the next day before his friends and headed downstairs alone. Remus was there already, skimming a book as he slurped his cereal. Sirius sat down beside him, determined to be fit in with his fellow Gryffindors.

"Sleep well?" Sirius asked pleasantly.

Remus shrugged.

"Good book?"

Remus nodded.

Sirius waited, but Remus said nothing more. "Nice talking to you," Sirius said finally, and he turned his concentration toward his food. People trickled into the Great Hall. Among them were Peter, who came to sit beside Sirius, and Lily, who sat at the other end of the table. "Any sign of James?" Sirius asked.

"Gave him the stuff, last I saw he was in the bathroom." Peter starting devouring his mountain of breakfast.

Sirius let his head rest on his hand as he let his eyes drift over the faces of the people he'd spend the next few years with. His gaze wandered over to the door—and he sat up straight as he registered none other than James Potter with a daffodil-yellow frock over his robes and a matching flowery bonnet.

Sirius couldn't help it. He burst out laughing so hard he cried and thumped his fist on the table, drawing the attention of Peter and the other Gryffindors, who also exploded into gales of laughter. It even elicited a reaction from Remus, and, perhaps most impressively of all, Lily had to hide her giggling behind her hand. James strode over with a confident swagger and sat down beside Sirius with an odd smile on his face.

"You okay, mate?" Sirius asked, wiping a tear from his eye.

"Oh, yes. Because I realized that as embarrassing as this is, you're the one who has to be seen with me." James grinned. "Plus, I think I'm totally rocking this look."


	7. The Lion and the Serpent

**"******Lesser Used Genres**"**

_**Summary:**__ "You will earn your Knighthood and achieve training in the magical arts."_  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Fantasy_  
_**Rating:**__ K+, __**Genre:**__ Fantasy, __**Characters:**__ Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, OC_, _**World:**__ Founders_  
_**Word Count:**__ 2,218_  
_**Beta:**__ natida, TheNextFolchart  
_

* * *

**The Lion and the Serpent  
**

* * *

Godric and his twin brother Godfrey were born to the extremely minor noble family of Gryffindor one stormy night in September, in the small village of Muddy Hollow very close to its largest house. Their parents were delighted. They could only hope that at least one of their children could restore some recognition to the family name.

The brothers were identical, both with waves of crimson curls, emerald eyes and dimpled cheeks. But the older they grew, the more their differences became noticeable.

"Take that! And that!" four year old Godfrey cried, as his stick collided with Godric's in a frenzied battle of pretend swords. They were playing Knights, inspired by the stories they'd been fed, and knowing that their parents planned to push them into Knighthood and bring honor to their house.

Despite Godric's best efforts, his twin had the upper hand. Maybe it was because Godfrey had chosen a thicker stick then he had; maybe it was because Godfrey was higher up on the small hill they stood on. Godric didn't know; he just knew that he was losing and he didn't like it. He didn't want to lose. Knights didn't lose.

Without warning, Godfrey's stick burst into flames.

Godfrey screamed and leaped back, dropping the flaming stick as Godric staggered back in shock, throwing down his own stick lest it, too, catch fire. Breathing hard, the two boys stood back and watched the fire consume the stick, and eventually die out.

Whenever their sparring grew particularly intense, one of them caused the other's stick to light up like a torch. And that one was always Godric.

When Godric got mad, things tended to burn. When Godfrey got mad… well, he just tended to be told off. Godric didn't understand why these things kept happening around him, although a scullery maid did quit once, raving about witchcraft and Black Magic.

"Do not concern yourself, Ric," Godfrey offered comfortingly when Godric confided his concerns to his twin. "If anything, be pleased. Is it not better to be able to accidentally burn your foes alive than to not?"

"I suppose…" Godric admitted.

"Suppose yes, because you need all the help you can get, given that I'm a better Knight than you," Godfrey told him with a smirk before getting up and breaking into a run, laughing.

"You are not!" Godric called after him, "I'm better!"

"I can't hear you, and thus I am still the best!"

"Not fair!" Godric cried as he scrambled up to run after him. "I shall be the best, Frey! Come back!"

But though he could easily speak to his brother about it, his parents made no comment on his unusual ability. Sometimes Godric thought he and Godfrey were the only ones who noticed these things, even though the servants often had to clean up the mess. He tried to ignore it more as he grew older; he was to become a Knight, after all, so childish games and their consequences were irrelevant.

"Now that you have turned seven, the time has come for you to begin your journey to knighthood," their father told them on their seventh birthday, and the two exchanged an excited look. "On the morrow, you shall be taken to a noble house, to be apprenticed as a Page to a Knight of noble lineage."

"Which house shall we go to, Father?" Godfrey asked excitedly, and the older man's face twitched slightly.

"You, Godric, shall go to serve the Pendragon house. And Godric, you shall go to the Slytherin house."

"Pardon?"

"We're to be separated?" Godric spoke over his twin; their faces falling in identical dismay.

"Surely you didn't believe you would be kept together?" their father stated, as if it was obvious. The pair exchanged a look. The thought of being separated had not occurred to them. "Besides, Godric, your skills may be better served in a special house."

"I don't understand, Father," Godfrey insisted.

"It's not necessary for you to understand; only that you obey my rules."

"Sometimes I despise the rules," Godric muttered unhappily.

There was nothing more to be said on the subject. The servants packed up their things, and as promised, the next day brought two separate carriages to take them away. Godfrey gave Godric a final hug, his head hung low; the gesture managing to capture more than words could say.

They bade their parents goodbye before climbing into their respective carriages. As the horses pulled them further apart, Godric fought against the tears building behind his eyes. He didn't want his first day as a Page to be ruined by tears.

He was thankfully distracted, though, by something strange about the horses.

"Do… do those horses have wings?" Godric questioned in confusion.

"Aye," the driver answered plainly before tugging on the reins.

The horses began to gallop, and Godric watched in a mixture of awe and fear as they unfurled their wings and took flight. Godric screamed and clutched the doorframe desperately, clinging to it in terror at the thought of falling to his death. He screamed and screamed, expecting to feel himself plummet to the ground. But he didn't.

Ever so cautiously, he let go of the door. Nothing life ending thus far. He looked out and saw the horses still flapping their wings; the driver still watching on disinterestedly. Amazed, he realized that they were in the air. They were flying! He was flying in the sky! He could see clouds all around him.

"What magic is this?" Godric gasped to himself, forgetting he wasn't alone. The driver chuckled.

"You shall learn."

Godric was mesmerized by the flight. He just wished Godfrey was there to see it with him. He wouldn't believe it when he found out! Godric was suddenly feeling more optimistic about his new position; would everything be so unbelievably amazing?

Finally, the driver steered the horses down, and Godric found himself bouncing impatiently on his seat for a servant to get the door, desperate to see his surroundings.

Oh, nevermind the servant, Godric thought to himself, and clambered out of the carriage on his own to take in where he'd be staying.

It was a rather unimpressive castle that looked very much like it was crumbling. Godric thought they'd be much better off just knocking the thing down and rebuilding it entirely; surely they could do better? It overlooked a large lake that looked as if the water a vial of black ink had been spilled over the grounds. An ominous looking forest was situated not too far away.

"Muggles are so impatient," a voice complained.

Godric tore his eyes away from the scenery and turned to the people that he hadn't noticed until that moment: the servants that were scurrying to get his things and, presumably, the Slytherins.

The speaker had been a boy around his own age. He had neat jet black hair and piercing gray eyes that watched Godric disapprovingly. There was a man, as well; tall, with a graying mustache and goatee. He bore a strong resemblance to the boy, and both were dressed in fine robes. Godric guessed that they must be father and son. The third person who stood to greet him was kitted out in a full suit of impressive armor, his face masked completely.

"You're not much better, Sally," the Knight said teasingly; voice echoing through his helmet. The boy's face went scarlet.

"I am not a muggle," Godric stated defensively as he held his head up high, refusing to be intimidated just because the others were richer than him. At least his house wasn't falling apart.

He had no idea what a muggle actually was, of course; the boy's tone had just seemed insulting.

"Correct, he's a wizard," the man announced, only managing to startle Godric even more.

"I am not a wizard, either."

"Actually, we have it on good authority that you are, which is why you've been invited here to the great House of Slytherin," the man said grandly, and gestured to the sorry excuse for a castle. "You will earn your Knighthood and achieve training in the magical arts."

"But I am not magic. I think Father would've had a servant inform me if I was."

"Are all muggles this foolish, Father?" Sally questioned.

"Are you aware Sally is a girl's name?" Godric countered, and the boy's cheeks went red again while the Knight chuckled.

"I'll have you know that it's short for Salazar. Salazar Slytherin. Which is a boy's name."

"Play nice, Sally," the Knight taunted and Salazar's face only reddened further.

"Be silent, my sons," the man hissed, and the pair fell silent as the attention returned to Godric. "Have you or have you not experienced strange occurrences throughout your life? I'm told you have a penchant for fire?"

"Well… yes," Godric admitted, and the man smiled.

"Now that, my boy, is magic. Thus, you are a wizard. Thus, you will be taught to control your power while also apprenticing to my elder boy here."

"I do not see why we have to teach the muggle," Salazar complained, and the man rounded on his son while Godric tried to process the new information.

"Not everyone has those to teach them, Salazar: it's not like there is a school for magic. If we do not teach those with magical blood then the magic and knowledge we have accumulated will be lost. I have told you this before. Why don't you show our new guest around? I have things to do," the man said, before giving Godric another smile. "I shall see you for supper."

"Thank you, Sir," Godric offered politely as the two men left; leaving him alone with the boy who continued eying him with dislike.

"Alright, so the first rule is that you must address me as Salazar or Master Slytherin, and since you're just a Page you have to do what I say," Salazar told him pointedly and folded his arms crossly. Godric didn't think he liked him very much. "Do you understand, Page?"

"Yes, Sally," Godric nodded and walked past the boy.

Flushing angrily, Salazar had to rush to keep up with him.

"I never gave you permission to enter!"

"Well, then, do not waste so much time standing around doing nothing!"

"Show me some respect, if you do not, then I will hex you."

"Hex me?" Godric repeated in incredulous amusement and stopped, facing the boy, who nearly walked into him. Godric noticed that he was actually bigger than Salazar.

"Yes, it's something that we real wizards do," Salazar said in such a serious tone that Godric couldn't help but laugh. He doubted Salazar could do anything remotely useful, let alone hex someone, whatever that was.

"Go ahead," Godric scoffed in amusement and folded his arms; a smile slithered onto Salazar's face.

The boy withdrew a stick that was both too short and too thin to be of any use as a practice sword; like the castle, it was quite unimpressive. Salazar seemed uncomfortable holding it as well, as if he wasn't used to it, but cleared his throat before pointing it at him.

"Flipendo!"

To Godric's immense shock, a streak of light shot out of the stick. He leaped out of the way instinctively and the light soared off into the distance. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest; what in the world?

"Hey! You're not supposed to move," Salazar complained as Godric scrambled to his feet, looking rather upset as he lowered his wand. "How did you avoid that anyway?"

"I just… did," Godric replied, and continued to eye the stick warily, though his caution faded as intrigue seeped in. "What… What did you try to do to me anyway?"

"It's the Knockback Jinx. It knocks you back—or just to the ground, if you're not very good at it yet," Salazar answered before his eyes bulged in panic. "Or so… so I've heard. Obviously I'm a pureblood so I'm good at spells."

"How many spells do you know?"

"Erm… just that one, but I've only started learning," Salazar said defensively while Godric found his mind filling with exciting thoughts. Would he get to learn to do that? What else could magic do?

"Well… it was pretty impressive," Godric admitted, which seemed to restore Salazar's confidence.

"Well of course you would think that, muggle."

"I'm not a muggle!" Godric snapped and stomped his foot.

Somewhat predictably—and for once, Godric was pleased—a tree stump near Salazar caught fire. The boy leaped back frantically while Godric folded his arms confidently.

The fire only blazed brighter, and Salazar ogled it in amazement.

"Well I have to admit, that is pretty impressive. With some control you could be rather good," Salazar said hesitantly and looked back to him. He seemed immensely thoughtful for a minute before offering Godric a reluctant smile and his hand.

Godric shook it politely. Maybe Salazar wasn't so bad.

"Welcome to Castle of Serpents, Godric Gryffindor."


	8. Game Plan

**"Competition"**

_**Summary:**_ _It was, of course, the long awaited debut of Ginny Weasley_  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Your team or the place where your team originates, teamwork_  
_**Rating:**__ T, __**Genre:**__ Angst, Romance, __**Characters:**__ Ginny Weasley, Tom Riddle, Dean Thomas, Harry Potter_, _**World:**__ Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 1,941_  
_**Beta:**__ natida, SilverMoonshine, lighterised2801  
_

_**Notes: **__This was co-written by awesome teammates natida (Chaser 1), SilverMoonshine (Chaser 2) and lighterised2801 (Chaser 3)  
_

* * *

**Game Plan  
**

* * *

_Elsewhere in the league, the Holyhead Harpies have started their campaign on the wrong foot this season with a loss to Pride of Portree. It was, of course, the long awaited debut of Ginny Weasley, as she made her first appearance as chaser for the all-women team. Already a household name, she was surely looking to start making her own fame as she headed out onto the pitch today. But in the longest of the day's matches, the youngster still looked like she was playing for the Gryffindor team. After dreaming of this for so long, she seemed overwhelmed by the situation, allowing herself to be bullied out of the quaffle by the more experienced players, and often being tackled in her moments of confusion. As one of the pundits commented, there were even times when she seemed to zone out entirely in the more hectic moments, coming to as if she didn't know quite what was going on in the game. Let's hope – for the sake of both the Harpies and Weasley's career – that she can get rid of this nervousness that's plaguing her._

_..._

First year was not how Ginny expected it to be.

She wondered, briefly, if she ought to have been in Slytherin—you'll make your real friends—and answered her mother's letters with false enthusiasm while wondering if anyone even saw her.

And she didn't understand why it bothered her so much; hadn't she spent her entire life mostly on her own? She'd never had a best friend, and Mum always did say she was too talkative for her own good… but she had thought Hogwarts would be different.

In Hogwarts, Percy had Penelope, Fred and George had each other, and Ron had Harry and Hermione. And Ginny… Ginny was alone.

When Tom Riddle appeared, he was a savior. And he was clever and friendly and when she told him things he listened—and not just in monosyllables, he devoted entire paragraphs—and Ginny wondered if this was what best friends were like, wondered if this was how Penelope felt with Percy, wondered if she'd ever find anyone quite as bright and funny and kind as Tom…

But Tom was confusing, and she found herself staying up later and later each night, sleep pushing behind her eyes—read a bit longer, Ginny; let me finish, he commanded—and she was failing her classes, even though Tom answered her questions better than McGonagall ever could, and she found herself telling him things, personal things, things that were meant to be secrets but which somehow seemed alright to share with Tom because Tom understood, but she'd wake up confused in the morning and find herself regretting it. And there was a strange tone to his words; she didn't like the way he talked to her like he knew her, even though he did know her, even though no one had ever known her as well as Tom did…

She started finding blood on her robes and strange things happened in the corridors and she couldn't sleep even though she was tired and Ron wouldn't listen and when she lost the Diary and saw that Harry had it she ransacked his room and cried because it wasn't fair, Harry already had friends of his own and why should he take hers?—and she forgot about her crush, about his beautiful green eyes, because she found Tom again and when she asked him if he told Harry her secrets he didn't act quite as offended at the implication as she thought he ought to —

Tom Riddle was amazing and entrancing and many other words she'd caught when reading Mum's old romance novels in secret—but he was also terribly confusing and she wondered if best friends could make you hate yourself, wondered if Penelope felt this frightened with Percy, wondered if she ought to destroy the Diary even though she knew no one would ever care for her like Tom…

And when it was all over, and she sat in Dumbledore's office after her parents had been mercifully shooed away, and she saw the little black book pierced through with a Basilisk fang, she cried. She cried, and cried, but she wasn't confused anymore.

...

_We're well into the season now, and favourites are beginning to emerge. Near the top of the list are the Harpies, although the team from Holyhead still has a few problems that could do with a quick vanishing charm. Chief among them is their new chaser for this season, Ginny Weasley. After a rocky start, she seems to finally be getting into the swing of things. But although the periods of not paying attention have thankfully disappeared, they've been replaced with vacant manoeuvres and predictable tactics. It's clear someone's spoken to her, but she seems to have lost her love for the game completely, and there are even rumours that she's playing badly in order to be kicked off the team. It's obvious to all that she's just going through the motions at this point, and it's not healthy for her or her team's scoresheet._

_..._

The lion roared as the clock struck one, the sound disappearing in the excited whispers of teenagers waiting in the common room. "There you are my cinnabon!" A deep voice surprised her from behind. Ginny turned around to find Dean towering over her. Perhaps a few months ago she would have found this endearing. To be honest, she didn't know what she felt anymore. Everything felt cold and distinct. It was as if an alien had taken control of her.

She smiled and took his arm. He grabbed his winter jacket and slung it over her shoulders. They began the long descent to Hogsmeade. Soon it all became a blur, she became a robot, laughing when he did, smiling at him vacantly, staring into space when he did.

He pulled her chair out for her. He took her coat. He took the liberty of ordering a warm cup of coffee with almond milk. He held her gently. He kissed her softly. He spoke in whispers.

She felt it burn into her. From across the misty, glitter filled room, his eyes still shone as bright as Canopus on a dark night. They seemed to burn a hole right through the motherboard of her robotic self. A spark ignited in her. She couldn't ignore it any longer. She wasn't a porcelain doll, so fragile that she might break if a gust of wind blew her way. She was a Weasley. She didn't need to be treated like a princess. She was the queen of her own land.

...

_We've reached the climax of the season and, after a nail-biting final, the Harpies have defeated the Magpies to become this season's champions; and what a whirlwind ride this one has been! After a difficult start, the Welsh team has turned it around, and Ginny Weasley has captured a place in all the fans' hearts by scoring the most goals recorded in the league since Walda Griffiths back in has had a rough season, but she's gotten past all the struggles and pulled though to help the team in green reclaim the trophy. And with long-running captain Gwenog Jones announcing her retirement from the game at the end of the match, and handing her captain's band to Ginny Weasley, it looks like the wizarding world's favourite redhead is going to be captaining the Harpies as they continue their journey to even greater success._

_..._

Ginny couldn't believe this was happening; not her, not him. She'd fantasized about this day so much during the days of her first crush that it felt almost like just that, a fantasy. After everything she had been through, everything they had been through, it seemed inconceivable that it was all so peaceful now and that she could be happy. No, it was much more like that any second now McGonagall was going to snap her out of it and demand an answer to a question that she would know if she hadn't completely zoned out. Any second now…

"Are you ready?"

Ginny jolted in surprise and stood up hastily at the sound of Hermione's voice, and nodded, picking the bouquet up off the dressing table. She needed to focus, she wouldn't want to miss her cue. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach as the music started up and she approached the opening doors, rows of eyes turned to her as she started her march with her father hovering as a shadow beside her. She started nervously despite being used to eyes on her from Quidditch.

But then she saw him, saw her groom standing at the opposite side of the room at the altar. Just like she'd dreamed, yet somehow completely different. The man of her dreams, the man she loved. His emerald eyes were dazzling in the sunlight and his smile beamed at her, and she felt the butterflies in her stomach flying away as she walked. What reason did she have to be nervous?

She had no doubts about Harry; she'd already gotten through the difficult part. The struggle to find someone who she felt comfortable with, someone she could trust, someone who didn't annoy her or confuse her, someone who didn't leave her emotionally exhausted. Just seeing him smile made her smile down the aisle, just being around him made her feel happy because he was that good to her. She didn't have to try, she just had to love. Unless this was still a daydream and she was still just a second away from being snapped out of it. The thought actually made her start to feel nervous again; this was too good to be true.

"You look beautiful," Harry offered.

Ginny was drawn back to reality again as he took her hands gently, and she felt her heart quiver. This was real. In her fantasies she'd seen it but she hadn't felt the touch of his sweaty hand against hers, she hadn't smelled the delightful aroma of the fresh flowers, she hadn't heard the muttering of the crowd behind her and a whoop from… one of her brothers. It was really happening, everything was really okay and no one was going to take her away from it.

"No talking," the officiant complained at her future husband, and Harry meekly muttered an apology.

"Hey!" Ginny spoke up in his defense, earning look of surprise. "My fiancé saved the world, he can talk on his wedding day if he wants to. Show some respect or we'll take our business elsewhere."

"Sorry ma'am," the man muttered, looking flustered.

Harry blushed but despite that a smile crept onto his face, he leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips.

"That's my girl," Harry whispered as he pulled away and smiled as she got lost in his eyes.

The officiant cleared his throat loudly. "Meaning no disrespect but would you like to get married now?" he questioned.

Ginny and Harry both laughed in nervous embarrassment; she could only hope all the guests watching hadn't noticed… somehow. The officiant began his speech that would end with them married, her fantasies always ended when they were married but in reality it would just be the beginning. This was real, she was really happy.


	9. Felix Potter

**"******Potions Class**"**

_**Summary:**__ I need it, understand? I need it. Even though it makes me sick, even though it's bad, even if it kills me I have to take it. I can't stop._  
_**Prompt(s):**_ _Felix Felicis_  
_**Rating:**__ M, __**Genre:**__ Angst, __**Characters:**__ Albus Potter_, _**World:**__ Next Generation_  
_**Word Count:**__ 2,812_  
_**Beta:**__ natida_

_**Notes: **__I think this is still T as its not exactly graphic but it does deal with themes of addiction albeit to a fictional potion which is a sensitive and mature topic so fair warning. I've upped the rating just to be on the safe side though  
_

* * *

**Felix Potter  
**

* * *

My name is Albus Severus Potter. I bet you've heard of that name; _everyone_ has heard of it.

I was famous before I was even born; you can't _not _be when every last soul in the Wizarding World knows your father's name, and your mother isn't exactly a nobody, either. Before I was a week old pictures of my squishy newborn face were splashed all over the _Prophet_. Everyone was dying to get a glimpse of Harry Potter's second child. And you know what? Even back then, I bet the headlines were _'Not as cute as his brother!'_

Don't get me wrong, I love my family and my dad is a hero, but the thing about heroes is that they cast very large shadows, and it's the people closest to them that have to live in that darkness. It's a lot to live up to.

My earliest memories are littered with paparazzi and fans fluttering after my father, cameras flashing wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of greatness in the son so much alike to his famous father in looks. I suppose it's not as bad when you're a child; Dad tried to keep us away from it all as much as possible, but even then... there's just always been this unspoken air of _expectancy _all around.

And then I started Hogwarts. Harry Potter's son makes _Slytherin_. The shock. The _horror._ My family may have been supportive, but it didn't stop the papers from blowing up, and it didn't stop the spotlight from shining on me in horrified fascination now I'd broken the family tradition. '_Albus Potter has his first Flying lesson and only did okay; did he not inherit the famous flying skills of his father?'_ The shock. The horror. '_Albus Potter has his first duel and gets bested by a Hufflepuff; did he not inherit the famous fighting skills of his father_?' The shock. The horror. _'Albus Potter spends time with his roommates in Slytherin; does he dare to befriend the children of former Death Eaters his famous father helped to stop?'_ The shock. The horror.

You get the point.

To Dad, Hogwarts was a second home where he found his true family, but to me it was more like being locked in a prison cell that was made of glass; like a display case. I didn't have friends; I realized quickly that they were really just tagging along. The same went for dating. People didn't care about me; they just cared about the five seconds of fame they got for being around Harry Potter's son. People suck.

And the bar's been set too high.

I tried. You have to believe me: I _tried_ on my own, but I just can't reach that bar by myself. If I'm not the best, I'm failing. _'His father defeated Voldemort but he only got an E on a Charms assignment?!'_ The shock. The horror. _'His father won the Triwizard Tournament but he didn't only made a reserve on the Quidditch team?!'_ The shock. The horror.

It doesn't help the rest of my family is so freaking perfect. Who doesn't love James, the happy-go-lucky prankster? Who doesn't love Lily, the Quidditch star? Who doesn't love Rose, the top of her class in _all_ her classes? Who doesn't love Teddy the metamorphmagus duelling master? And then there's me. The Slytherin son, the serpent, the shame of the otherwise perfect Potter name. You have _no_ idea what that's like! And I'm not exaggerating; those _are _actual headlines I read in the papers.

So then we get to my Fifth Year and my sixteenth birthday. I don't remember who bought me the vial of Felix Felicis. Probably my Uncle Ron or Uncle George, maybe James? Although it's a bit expensive for James... never mind, it's not important. The important part is that I got it. I didn't use it then, because to tell the truth, I wasn't entirely sure they weren't just screwing with me. But later that year, the Seeker got his arm barbecued by… I don't know, whatever deadly creature Hagrid was showcasing in that class, and I was up. This was it; this was my shot to prove myself. Except it wasn't.

"We've already lost, Potter," the Captain told me when we left the last practice before the match after I mistakenly said something optimistic. "You're not good enough to beat the Hufflepuff Seeker."

Some people might've been mad at that, but the Cap hadn't said it to hurt me. He just sounded defeated, as if it was just a fact he had to resign himself to. I just wasn't good enough.

And then I remembered the story of pretending to slip Felix to Uncle Ron, and I figured I could do the same to myself since I didn't think it was _real _Felix. I guess it's cheating, but they don't check for that crap in Hogwarts games, not unless you give them reason to. So I took some and guess what? It _was_ real.

For once, I felt confident, I felt like I could do anything, like I could actually live up to my father's name. And for once I did. I saw a glimpse of gold and caught it right off the bat, and I beat the record my own Dad had set. I won us the match; heck I won us the Cup! It was the best day of my life, everything I did was golden. Through freakish coincidence I won fifty Galleons, found another twenty, found out who was hexing the portraits in our Common Room to speak German–it was James–earning me forty House points, I was the life of the celebratory party, I got to snog Lindsay Wood–she was like the hottest girl in Hogwarts at the time–and the Captain offered me a permanent place on the team.

The horrible thing about luck, though, is that it runs out. The next day I was back to the being the mundane disappointment I always was. Except now that I'd proved myself a winner everyone was waiting for the smart, charming, talented and lucky kid I'd been yesterday.

I was tempted to use Felix Felicis again, but it was a small vial and I thought I should use it sparingly–at least until I could figure out how to get more. It wasn't long until the end of the year so it was easier to get away with it for a few weeks–but then it was time for my O.W.L.s.

I had to do well; at least in the subjects I was expected to be best at. Who needs Calming Draught when you have Felix?

It was a breeze. By some twisted trick of the light during Defense Against the Dark Arts, I could see genius Rose's answers reflected off a window onto the wall right in front of me, and for the practical the spells I struggled with just came naturally. In Potions I was assigned potions I was confident with, and my few mistakes actually ended up helping me to brew the potion better. It makes me think that some of these textbooks are a bit outdated–but I digress. Plus, I still had a string of good fortune outside of exams. It was the best.

But it wasn't really, because I'd used the last of Felix.

It wasn't so bad over the summer, chilling out at home and doing surprisingly well on my O.W.L.s thanks to my good friend Felix. It was only when I went back to school that it all started to catch up with me. Now that the new season of Quidditch had begun, the team were confused as to where my talent had gone; they started wondering whether my victory had been a fluke. I'd done well on my O.W.L.s, but now I was struggling with my N.E.W.T.s, and some of my teachers were wondering how I'd managed to get high enough to be in the class if I was having that much trouble. I felt as if my life was crumbling. I'd reached the bar but without Felix I couldn't hold on to it.

So the next Hogsmeade trip I scoured the town and spent a small fortune buying some of that precious molten gold from a shady guy in the less reputable part of town. Problem solved. And just in time for the next Quidditch match, where by a pure stroke of luck, for the first time in my life. I beat my super star seeking sister Lily for the Snitch. Reputation preserved.

I tried to use the rest for special occasions only: important tests or assignments, or Quidditch matches. And then I realized that might look suspicious, so I started using it randomly sometimes, for ordinary lessons. It was a good thing that I'd never been much of a spender and had a generous allowance, because Felix Felicis was expensive. By the end of the year Hogsmeade trips were just times to stock up on my supply–but hey, Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup _and_ the House Cup that year because of me and Felix.

That summer between Sixth and Seventh Year was the worst summer of my life. I hadn't realized it during the year, but now that I was out of Hogwarts I had no reason to use Felix, so I stopped–and you wouldn't believe how much I missed it.

It's nice to feel confidence, it's nice to feel successful, it's nice to have days when everything just goes your way... and I missed it. Summer felt so empty and dark. Well, Teddy and Victoire had their first baby–and there was Fred's wedding–but so freaking _what_? That's _their_ joy, not mine; my days just sucked. I was back to being just lost in my father's shadow, and I hated that. I realized that I wanted–no, that I _needed_ to keep using Felix even outside of Hogwarts. So I started to research how to make it and found myself a seller for it in Knockturn Alley. Don't judge me; London is easier to get to.

My final year passed in a blur of joy and success. I was confident, I was happy and life was great. I always wanted to be a Herbologist, but following in Dad's footsteps and becoming an Auror was much more becoming, so I signed up for that instead. With Felix, I was sure I could keep up appearances.

And I was right; Felix kept me on track with everyone else. At first it was hard to regulate how frequently to use it without classes and Quidditch, so I ended up just using it more. I swear without it I'd be dead by now. I started to notice it was making me more reckless, but it also made me giddier, so I didn't notice it, not until it was over.

But you know what? It was a nice feeling, and I figured Felix would stop the recklessness from coming back to bite me. Life was still good, I was popular with my co-workers, and the headlines were singing my praise.

Until the recklessness _did _come back to haunt me.

I rushed in too soon for this raid. We finally got the Lestrange brothers, thanks to me–but seven people died, also thanks to me. Four Aurors I knew and cared about, and three civilians they'd been trying to use as hostages. One was just a kid, a little muggle girl. A curse meant for me miraculously ricocheted off my pocket watch, saving my life but ending hers. I was so giddy I laughed. I laughed as she died. The memory still haunts me.

After that, I figured that the best way to counter those effects would be to just use it more; the more I'd use it, the luckier I'd be… right?

Wrong. But that's what I thought, and that's what I did. If you've been paying attention, though, you'll remember that Felix Felicis is expensive. I'd been using as much as I could afford to but now I had to use even more, I had to downsize, sell off things and spend as little as possible. I stopped buying food; the free lunch in the cafeteria and meals from visiting family members was all I ate. Felix was more important than food.

I was taking it every other day at first, but that was horrible; the days in between were nightmarish and I'd fear failure every second, so I started taking it every day. You feel better then–confident, so you're not worried about that sort of stuff. But you also get increasingly reckless. I was out of control; I'd do and say the first things that popped into my mind. Mistakes. Mistakes that hurt people's feelings, that got people killed, that let bad guys get away–because when you're lucky all the time, there's no such thing as luck anymore.

And did you know Felix is toxic in large doses? I started getting ill, and staying ill, because my body couldn't cope with so much of the potion. There's trembling as the molten gold surges violently through your veins, vomiting as your body tries to purge itself of the poison, fever as it burns you up after being unable to get it out, dizziness from the extreme giddiness and weakness because you're just so worn out from waging war with Felix. I felt like I was crumbling, like my body was falling apart. That was the first time it ever truly occurred to me that I _should_ stop. But I couldn't.

One day my body finally snapped from the strain. I collapsed and was rushed to St. Mungo's. The Healer purged Felix from my system and stopped me dying; I say that instead of 'saving my life' because that bitch tried to _destroy _my life. When I woke up, she told me I had an _addiction_–can you believe that? She said she'd tell my father because I needed help, because I shouldn't be working on this much. Can you imagine the headlines? The shock. The _horror_. I would've lost my job, not to mention my reputation, and worst of all; my father's respect. I mean, how would he feel if he learned that the only good things about me, the only things he's proud of, come from Felix, not Albus?

For the first time in my life, though, I was lucky even without Felix, because she foolishly hadn't told anyone else yet and I still had my wand.

I attacked her; I altered her memory to think I'd collapsed from stress instead. I'm not proud of it, but I need Felix, and she didn't understand. I tried to cut back, ensure that it didn't happen again, but it feels wrong on the off days. I still feel like I'm failing, like I need it.

I was recently assigned to stopping some Dark Wizards dealing illegal potions and you'll never believe who I tracked it down to: my seller. He's a bad guy; he does worse than just make Felix. I _should_ arrest him and let him rot in Azkaban just like I should stop taking Felix but I can't, I need it too much. How would I be an Auror without it? How would I be Harry Potter's son without it?

So I made a deal with him instead: in exchange for covering up his crimes, I get free Felix.

I'm helping a criminal, I made a deal with a monster. I tried to tell myself it wouldn't change anything, that I don't _have_ to increase how often I have it again. But I can't _not_–it's just too tempting. I _need_ to be confident so I can work, so I can live. I need it, understand? I _need_ it. Even though it makes me sick, even though it's bad, even if it kills me I _have _to take it. I can't stop. Albus was never good enough to be a Potter, you see, only Felix–so that's just who I have to be.


	10. Cat's in the Cradle

**"******Next-Gen Lovin'**"**

_**Summary:**__ Let her have some fun for once, she won't be a kid forever."_  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Molly Weasley_  
_**Rating:**__ K+, __**Genre:**__ Family, __**Characters:**__ Percy Weasley, Molly Weasley II_, _**World:**__ Post-Hogwarts, Next Generation_  
_**Word Count:**__ 1,703_  
_**Beta:**__ natida_

_**Notes: **__This was also inspired by a song 'Cat's in the Cradle' by (I don't know, it has several covers and I'm not sure which version I heard). It was very fitting for what I was aiming for and helped me with the structure so thought it was worth mentioning  
_

* * *

**Cat's in the Cradle  
**

* * *

Percy Weasley apparated home from a satisfying day of work at the Ministry; so satisfying, in fact, that his boss had told him he was up for a promotion if he kept this up. He and his family had just moved into a larger house thanks, in part, to the pay raise he'd received for his efforts, and as Molly was walking now and he and his wife Audrey were planning on having a second child, the extra space was welcome. The Floo Network hadn't been set up though, so he and Audrey had to apparate there for the time being.

His good mood evaporated in an instant, however, as he saw his two year old outside the house; she was running around jumping in puddles. _Puddles_. Getting her dress wet – and wet with filthy, dirty rainwater.

Percy rushed forwards and grabbed her immediately, and her large chocolate brown eyes were fixed on him while her freckled face pouted. He immediately took out his wand started to magically dry her off.

"No, Molly, we do not play in puddles," Percy chastised her strictly. "You _know_ this."

"But it's fun," Molly complained as he finished drying her off.

"Yeah, Perce, lighten up," a familiar voice criticized, and Percy turned his gaze to the doorway where George stood, his own baby son in arms; he had been babysitting while he and Audrey worked. "A little splash of water isn't going to kill her. Let her have some fun for once, she won't be a kid forever."

"Exactly," Percy insisted and his brother gave him a confused look. "She has to grow up and it's not acceptable for adults to run around jumping in puddles. If we don't teach her these things now she's not going to know any better for when she's older."

"She's _two_. She's not even toilet trained."

"Well, maybe she would be if the people babysitting encouraged that instead of running around in puddles like a lunatic," Percy said more harshly then he'd meant it, as he finished cleaning his daughter up; her red hair was also looking rather frizzy and in need of a brush. He picked her up. "Come on Molly; let's get your hair brushed nicely."

"But I wanna play," Molly whined unhappily as she was carried inside.

* * *

_Seven years later…_

* * *

Percy flooed home from a long day of work at the Ministry. He was putting in a lot of overtime as his boss was retiring and he had a real shot of replacing him if he worked hard enough. In fact, he'd brought some paperwork home with him to try get ahead for tomorrow. They were well established into their house now, and as Molly was almost of Hogwarts age the house would be feeling emptier soon, as just little Lucy would be left for most of the year. Lucy was only five, so she still had a way to go before Hogwarts.

After stepping out of the fireplace, he heard thundering of footsteps and had to scowl; one or both of his children were clearly running in the house. _Running_. Hadn't he told them a thousand times already that it was dangerous to do that as they could hurt themselves? It was an _outside_ activity.

Molly rushed into the room an instant later; throwing her arms around him to hug him in greeting.

"Molly, what have I told you about running in the house?" Percy criticized immediately as he pulled away.

She pouted. "But I was excited you were home!"

"Daddy!" Lucy cried happily as she also reached the room, a chubby little girl, waddling over to cuddle him. At least _one_ of his children obeyed the rules.

"So…?"

"So what?" Percy wondered in confusion as he pulled away from Lucy. Molly looked hurt.

"You promised you'd play with me when you got home today," Molly pointed out and Percy had to think for a minute; he did recall it vaguely, but he had work to do. "That you'd take me out on my new broom, remember?"

"I remember, but I have work to do right now," Percy insisted, and saw his daughter's face fall slightly. He sighed and put his hand on her shoulder. "Look, Molly, there's a big promotion that I can get if I work hard enough. It'll mean I'm more important, we get more money, and we can afford better things."

"Wouldn't you rather play with me?"

"Of course I'd rather play with you, but I'm an adult, I can't just do whatever I want. If I didn't have a job then we wouldn't have a house, and you wouldn't have any toys to play with if I had no money. This is important."

"Okay, Dad," Molly sighed, but he thought she did have a more understanding expression as he walked away.

* * *

_Nine years later…_

* * *

Percy headed downstairs after having gotten washed and dressed; for once, work was not the most important thing on his mind. Lucy was starting her fourth year of Hogwarts in a few weeks and Molly had actually graduated, so the only question remaining was what grades she'd get. They were just waiting on her N.E.W.T. results to arrive by owl, and it could be any day now. He was anxious to see what she'd get; she hadn't been made prefect or Head Girl but her O.W.L. results had been good, so he wasn't sure what to expect.

The scent of sizzling bacon greeted him as he entered the kitchen where most of his family was already assembled–only Molly wasn't there. Audrey was already at the stove while fourteen year old Lucy sat at the table, a letter behind her sheet of red hair. A letter with the Hogwarts seal no less. Percy felt his stomach twist into an iron knot for the first time since his own N.E.W.T. results letter had arrived, because surely if Lucy had gotten her Hogwarts letter then Molly's results had arrived.

"Has–"

"Yes, the results arrived," Lucy answered before he'd finished asking, without even looking up. "Molly isn't down yet so we haven't opened them."

"Someone say my name?" Molly's voice questioned.

Percy spun to see his eldest girl following him into the room; already fully dressed and looking quite awake. Audrey silently pulled a letter from her pocket and handed it to Molly.

His daughter swallowed nervously as she took it with trembling fingers, while Percy and Audrey went to hover over her shoulders as she opened it. She bit her lip as she unfolded the parchment, but it was unnecessary; a wave of relief crashed through him and destroyed his nerves. She'd gotten all Outstandings.

"I'm so proud of you!" Percy burst out and hugged his daughter tightly.

"We both are, sweetheart," Audrey added, and put a hand on Molly's shoulder as she pulled away from Percy with a smile on her face.

"This is fantastic! You did brilliantly! Did I mention I was proud of you?" Percy rambled, still caught up in his ecstatic delight at her achievement. "We have to tell the whole family–we should go out for a nice meal or–we should throw a party for you to celebrate and–"

"Maybe some other time," Molly cut him off. "Now that I have my grades, I can send them off for those jobs I'm interested in. The sooner I apply the better it looks for me and the more chance I have."

"Forget that, Molly, celebrate now and worry about that later. Savor the moment."

"Good one, Dad," Molly laughed and clapped him on the shoulder before walking out.

Percy watched her go in confusion.

* * *

_Twenty years later…_

* * *

Percy stepped off the Knight Bus where he'd been enjoying a pleasant nap on the journey; he had been finding life pretty slow since he'd retired and been quite lonely, really. Audrey hadn't retired yet and both of his daughters had long since moved away with families of their own, so it was just him rattling around the house by himself. That was one of the reasons why he'd decided to show up and surprise Molly; he didn't see his daughters enough,especially his eldest as she'd moved further away.

He was happy to be greeted by the sight of his little grandson playing outside in the garden; the small child zipping around happily. Percy smiled to himself at how big the boy was getting now. He only looked away when the door opened and Molly left the house. She smiled when she saw him and they greeted each other with a hug.

"Dad! It's such a surprise to see you," Molly said happily as she pulled away. "What are you doing here?"

"Just came to see you and my grandkids," Percy explained, and Molly's expression became strained.

"Well, that's great, you can see the kids anyway, but I have to work."

"You have to work? Wouldn't you rather spare a day to spend time with your Dad?" Percy wondered incredulously. It was as if she was speaking a different language.

"Of course I would, but I can't just do whatever I want, I'm an adult. I have work and responsibilities," Molly insisted, before catching sight of her son; he was jumping into a puddle. "Orson! Inside now, I told you before not to play in puddles or you have to play inside."

"But Mummy…" Orson whined, stamping his feet childishly. But Molly pointed to the door and the boy trudged back inside unhappily.

"A little water won't kill him, just let him play," Percy said, feeling bad for his grandson and rather surprised at Molly's behavior. "Since when did you care about that stuff anyway?"

"Since I grew up," Molly told him as if it were obvious before giving him a consoling smile. "Bye Dad, see you."

"Bye," Percy muttered as she disapparated.


	11. When Purebloods Go To War

**"******Shakespeare**"**

_**Summary:**__ He had no heir to speak of, but as he had three daughters he decided to divide the land evenly amongst them, as it seemed the fairest thing to do._  
_**Prompt(s):**_ _King Lear_  
_**Rating:**__ T, __**Genre:**__ Parody, Tragedy, __**Characters:**__ Cygnus Black III, Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy, Andromeda Tonks_, _**World:**__ Pre-Hogwats, Marauders_  
_**Word Count:**__ 1,487_  
_**Beta:**__ natida_

_**Notes: **__This is very different to what I've written before, its also very AU and loosely follows the plot of the play 'King Lear' by William Shakespeare just Harry Potterized so err make of it what you will  
_

* * *

**When Purebloods Go To War  
**

* * *

Once upon a time (well, more like fifty years ago) in a secret world within our own, where magic reigned supreme and wands and broomsticks took the place of cars and electricity, ruled a man they called The Minister – an old widower named Cygnus Black III. Old Cygnus was getting on in years, his body was frail, his magic was weak, and he feared the dulling of his mind. He had no heir to speak of, but as he had three daughters he decided to divide the land evenly amongst them, as it seemed the fairest thing to do. But first he insisted upon a test, to ensure they'd keep his ways.

"Tell me, my dear daughters, how much do you love me?" old Cygnus asked of them.

"Oh Father, I love you a lot," Narcissa assured him immediately. "More than all the magic in the world."

"I love you more, Father," Bellatrix told him confidently. "More than the blood of all the filthy Muggles in the world that I would like to kill."

Old Cygnus smiled to himself at their answers, quite satisfied indeed despite his daughter's odd bloodthirst. He then turned to his favourite daughter, dear Andromeda, who had yet to speak. "And you, my sweet? What answer do you have to give?"

"I have no words, dear Father," Andromeda spoke at once. "To describe the bond I share with you."

To old Cygnus this was not acceptable; what trickery was this? If she really loved him then truly she could at least to think to say _something_ – any answer would suffice. Feeling spurned by her cruelty, he flew into a rage.

"If you have no words, we have no bond and you are no daughter of mine!" Cygnus yelled, jabbing his wand towards the door. "Begone with you! Leave my sight, and if you return I shall end your life!"

And so sweet Andromeda fled in tears, disowned and disgraced, blasted off the family tree. She ran into the arms of her suitor, good Ted of Tonks, who had been previously rejected because of his poor blood status.

"I don't care that you have nothing," said Ted as she cried into his arms. "I never have stopped loving you. Please marry me all the same."

"Yes," Andromeda agreed, smiling through her tears. "I'll marry you, my love. Who cares about blood status these days?"

And so they wed and fled to France to enjoy their honeymoon, while back across the channel old Cygnus felt the pain of his decision. Narcissa and Bellatrix were undermining the little authority he had left, squandering his wealth, running his country as they pleased. He struggled with this knowledge; how could he not? His wife was dead, his favourite daughter did not love him, and the others betrayed him? It was enough to drive a man insane.

Seeing Cygnus' mind was dwindling, his good friend Charlus Potter hatched a plan. With Old Cygnus' loyal house elf Loof, they sought to spirit Old Cygnus away. He waited until the time was ripe, when a thunderstorm distracted the land, and then the three fled into the night on the backs of Winged Abraxians.

Whilst all this was taking place, troubles plagued another man. The aging Gloucester of noble Pureblood Lestrange lineage had trouble with his sons. He'd fathered two within his life: the elder called Rodolphus, born out of wedlock when he was a young man; and a younger one to his now dead bride named Rabastan, whom he named his heir.

Rodolphus was not pleased with this: why should his brother get everything just because he'd been born to his father's wife? And so he whispered rumors, let lies drift around like smoke. He convinced his poor foolish father that Rabastan sought to end his life. Gloucester ordered his heir to be killed before this could come about, and so young Rabastan also fled into the thunderstorm.

However foolish he was to believe his son, Gloucester was loyal even to a fault. Upon realizing the treachery of Cygnus' daughters, he sought to help the Minister out. Narcissa and her cunning husband (Lucius Malfoy was his name) caught on to this, however, and realized his betrayal. For in helping the old Minister, he'd earned the daughters' wrath.

They accused him of treason, stripped him of his wealth and as a final blow Lucius Malfoy cast a spell to remove his sight. Gloucester wandered around, lost, but it was Rabastan and not Rodolphus who returned to his father's side, disguising himself with magic to lead away the blind. Rodolphus cared not for his father, instead setting about seducing the daughters in power.

Rabastan took his father to Dover, where Charlus had brought the old Minister, as it was known to be a place where Muggles thrived and they were less likely to be seen by the daughters' spies. For they feared he'd take back power and sought to take him back, ensure he stayed under their control.

But one daughter did learn of this – the one he'd sent away. Andromeda made haste to save her father, bringing her husband's allies in to help.

Meanwhile her sisters had troubles of their own, as Bellatrix's husband Avery was becoming more sympathetic to Cygnus' cause. She didn't pay enough attention to him to notice, but Rodolphus surely did, and he conspired with Narcissa to kill her treacherous kin.

Bellatrix sent the Ministry troops into Dover, leading them to clash with Andromeda's Order of the Phoenix. Wands were drawn and cast alight, a haze of spell fire lighting up the night. The muggles fled in terror, unsure of what was happening. Gloucester despaired of his uselessness now that he was blind, and unable to use his magic, he attempted suicide.

But Rabastan pleaded with his father. "Please, Father," he begged. "Do not die."

The Order fought their hardest, but the Ministry had more people. Andromeda found her father, but just then Rodolphus entered the fray. He captured both father and daughter and had them thrown into the hellhole that was known as Azkaban. Seeing that they were gaining a victory, Bellatrix seized her chance – the chance to take out her other sister and take power for herself.

She shot her sister in the back with a jet of all-powerful green, and Narcissa fell dead among those fighting.

But her killing did not escape unnoticed; both her husband and Lucius saw it all. Avery called for the Dementors to take his murderous wife away, but in anger and vengeance, Lucius changed the order.

"Kiss her now, suck out the soul of Cygnus' daughter!" Lucius commanded, and they obeyed.

Bellatrix screamed in terror and quickly killed herself, finding death preferable to an existence as a soulless shell. But there were two, not one, of Cygnus Black's daughters left, and as Lucius didn't specify which to take,Andromeda paid the price.

"NO!"Cygnus screamed back in Azkaban as they took his daughter's soul, stretching his arm uselessly through the bars to try and grasp her. But her hand fell limp, her head lolling free. Her eyes stared at him blankly.

"I'm sorry," Cygnus sobbed, crying in the dark.

Remorse for his earlier words crept in; she had sent an army to save him, so clearly she had loved him after all. He'd lost his favourite daughter. The grief destroyed him, his weak heart giving out, and he died on the floor.

Back in Dover, the battle halted as the Lestrange brothers fought. Rodolphus had always been the more skilled duelist and was confident.. They circled each other atop a massive hill, wands drawn as they waited to see who would sink or swim.

"Did you notice what has happened to our father, while you've been fighting me?" Rodolphus taunted and gestured to a tree. Gloucester laid beneath, his body bloody and still.

"You killed our father?!" Rabastan cried in tears, not having thought even Rodolphus would sink so low.

"He killed himself," Rodolphus shrugged."Got lost wandering blindly into the fight. He was as stupid as a House-Elf."

Rabastan gave a cry of rage and sent out a flurry of attacks, Rodolphus deflecting all masterfully with a simple Shield Spell. Rodolphus smiled to himself, thinking his brother a fool.

"I always knew you were weak, brother," he taunted, but his brother's eyes narrowed darkly as he raised his wand once more.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

Rodolphus was taken back, not having expected the weakling to use the Killing Curse. His shield shattered to pieces and the curse struck him dead, ending the battle, though the winner was not clear among all the dead.

And so concludes the tale of when Purebloods go to war – even without Voldemort, they're a bloody mental lot if you ask me.


	12. Lily of the Hill

**"******Forbidden Relationships**"**

_**Summary:**__ "For you? I'd always come when you need me, Lily."_  
_**Prompt(s):**__ A dark character/light character relationship_  
_**Rating:**__ T, __**Genre:**__ Romance, Tragedy, __**Characters:**__ Severus Snape, Lily Evans_, _**World:**__ Pre-Hogwats, Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 1,285_  
_**Beta:**__ TheNextFolchart_

* * *

**Lily of the Hill  
**

* * *

There was a slight popping sound, and the next instant a man was standing on the corner of the empty street. The colour of his black robes matched his eyes and the filthy hair hanging off his head, and contrasted the sallow skin of his hooked nose. The man looked around as if to make sure no one had seen before stalking off, making his way through the streets as if he'd lived there all his life.

Finally he came to a hill, which overlooked a coffee shop that had once been a park where children had played years ago. Everything had changed here since he was a child, and the Muggles only seemed to pollute the place more with every passing year. They build factories that pumped chemicals into the sky to clog it with smoke and dumped waste into the river to taint the water. They hadn't touched this hill, though, and the glades of grass were a glorious shade of emerald green. Just like _her_ eyes.

There was a copse of trees at the top, a thicket with some wildflowers and a large oak tree. The man sighed as he reached the tree and placed a hand on it; its branches overhead cast a refreshing patch of shade from the intense summer sunlight. He sat down in the grass, just as he had as a child, and leaned back against the tree, his eyelids feeling heavy…

"Severus?"

Severus leapt up from the ground and turned to see the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on standing in front of him. Her dark red hair fell to her shoulders in waves as she looked at him with those bright green almond-shaped eyes he loved so much. He loved _her_ so much, and had for so long.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come," she admitted and he felt his face harden as he remembered where they each stood in the war.

"For you? I'd always come when you need me, Lily." Severus folded his arms. He wanted _so badly _to hold her.

"It's dangerous for you."

"We'll keep this short, then. What did you call me here for?"

"I came…I came because…well…" Lily twiddled her thumbs nervously and stared at her shoes before her eyes starting bubbling over with tears. "I came because I love you."

"Love me?" Severus repeated, unable to stop himself from starting in shock while she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "But you're married to Potter?"

"Potter? _Please._" Lily spat the name angrily. "He's an arrogant toe rag who only cares about his ego." She sighed. "Things aren't good between us, Sev, they haven't been good for a long time."

"Oh. I didn't know."

"He just wants me to be a housewife, bear him a son. He doesn't really care about me. I don't think he ever did." Lily's expression saddened before she looked back up and caught his eyes in her own. "You're the only one, Sev, the only one who ever did. Back when we used to be friends—_best_ friends—those were the best days of my life, the days I treasure above all. I regret that we let something as silly as a word come between us."

"So…you're saying you want us to be friends again?" Severus asked, refusing to let himself hope.

"I'm _saying__—_" She took a step to close the gap between them and reached out a warm hand to caress his face. Shivers of anticipation swept down his spine. "—that I want us to be more than friends."

"I… I want that too," Severus whispered, and he leaned down as she leaned up, their eyes closing as their lips locked. For that one brief moment everything faded away: the light, the dark, the good, the bad. He was aware of nothing but the feeling of her soft lips pressed against his and the happy feeling sweeping through him, and for one brief moment his life was perfect. As he pulled away, he realized with some shock that he was crying. He put his arms around her and held her close. "I love you, Lily, I love you more than anything else in this world, I love you. And I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry—"

"Shh." Lily pressed her finger to his lips to silence him while her other hand caressed his cheek gently. His tears fell against the smooth skin of her palm. "I know, Sev, I know. It's alright. It's all alright now."

"It's _not_," he said. "We still can't be together. If the Death Eaters find out I'm with a—well, with you—they'll kill me."

Somehow, she was _smiling. _"The war has to end at some point, Sev, then you'll be free and I'll leave James. We'll be together then."

"But we'll still see each other in the meantime? If we meet in secret? We could always meet here. This can be our spot."

"I don't think I could endure being married to that prick otherwise." Lily pressed her lips against his once more, this time more passionately…

They pulled apart to draw breath and the crowd cheered. They were still in the same place, except this time they weren't alone: an officiant stood behind them and a cluster of guests stood in front of them. Lily was now dressed in frilly white dress with a green trim to match her eyes and he was in dress robes. His hair was pristine clean and his skin had a healthy hue to it, although of course he was nothing compared to Lily.

"Did you ever think this day would come, Sev?" Lily asked as they locked arms, walking down the hill together. "When the war would finally end and we could walk down this hill as husband and wife?"

"No," Severus admitted before he frowned; how _had_ the war ended? He tried to push that thought aside. It didn't matter how. "I was thinking, when we get back from our honeymoon, we should buy a house somewhere far away from here. I always hated this place."

"We can live anywhere you like, sweetheart." Lily squeezed his hand gently. "Anywhere but Godric's Hollow."

"Godric's Hollow?" Severus repeated, stopping dead while Lily walked on without him; a wave of sorrow swept over him as he recalled how he knew that place. Tears pricked his eyes. "This isn't real, is it?"

Lily laughed sweetly. "Of course it's not, Sev." She glanced back to him with a smile; his eyes widened as he saw her face was now charred and her eyes were just empty sockets. "How could I ever love _you_?"

Severus jolted awake with a start. He looked around in panic and realized he was still sitting under the tree, very much alone. He must've just fallen asleep. He rubbed his eyes, angry with his mind for crafting such a dream and with his eyes for threatening to leak. There was no wedding, no affair, no love. Lily was gone, and she had died protecting the child of another man.

Bitterly, he shifted around to kneel facing the tree and pulled out his wand. With a flick of his wrist, flowers sprouted amongst the roots. Lilies. He couldn't stand to visit her grave and see _Potter _carved into her headstone, so instead he came here, where they'd played as children, back before Houses and blood and wars had divided them.

"Happy birthday, Lily," he whispered.

Only silence replied.


	13. Footprints in the Snow

**"******Top of the Pops**"**

_**Summary:**__ I gazed back out into the swirling vortex of white all around me before pushing on blindly once more; I had to be close to home by now_  
_**Prompt(s):**_ _Not a footprint to be seen - __Let It Go by Idina Menzel_  
_**Rating:**__ M, __**Genre:**__ General, __**Characters:**__ OC, Selwyn_, _**World:**_ __Pre-Hogwats, _Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 2,997 _  
_**Beta:**__ natida  
_

_**Notes: **Firstly the world count is taken from Microsoft Word not the Doc Manager like usual, the latter things its over the limit so I used former. Secondly, I know this is weird but I hope its okay and it is slightly AU with the Battle of Hogwarts occurring in winter. And I put it at M to be on the safe side__  
_

* * *

**Footprints in the Snow  
**

* * *

I limped through the snow, dragging my boots through the layers of white lumps and blinking blearily as a flurry of flakes was blown into my face by the breeze. It was cold, even though I was bundled up in black robes. My clothes were all damp now, anyway, from the snow, making the fabric feel heavy as if it attempted to drag me down. I didn't mind it, though; it helped numb the pain.

I was slumped over as I walked, with one arm behind me and my wand outstretched to wipe the footprints I didn't want to leave. The other arm clutched at my stomach, trying to stop the wound from bleeding out—the most grievous of my injuries. My hand was burnt, I had some minor scrapes and bruises too, but they were so insignificant in comparison to the stomach wound that I didn't even feel them.

Or maybe it was the cold. I didn't know; I didn't care. The snow looked like a soft blanket, and a part of me just wanted to drop and let my body rest. I couldn't do that, though. If I stopped I'd either die if not found or be arrested if I was.

The snowfall was so thick that it was hard to see through, making it difficult to tell where I was. At least it also made it harder to be found. I focused on my footprints, my arm feeling frozen in place. I was almost home, surely, even at my slow pace. It wasn't that long a walk from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade; I'd done it so many times in the past.

_"You're so lucky," Mark said to me, sighing heavily as his eyes focused on the magically-lighted Christmas tree in the center of Hogsmeade. "Mummy can't use magic where we live because of all the muggles living nearby. I wish I lived in Hogsmeade."_

_"It's the best," I said with a grin. "I can't imagine living anywhere else."_

_"It's not _that_ great," Selwyn said as he folded his arms, nodding to a little blond girl around our age who was gazing up at the tree with awestruck eyes. She'd just moved in across the street from us. Adina._

_"What's wrong with her?" Mark asked, and Selwyn's jaw dropped in disbelief._

_"You don't _know_?"_

_"Know what?"_

_"Her daddy is a mudblood," I said before Selwyn could, and he huffed at me for ruining his reveal. I dropped my eyes to the ground, kicking at the snow and shoving my hands behind my back. "Daddy says I'm not to play with her."_

_"Oh."_

_"That's why _my_ Daddy says we can't live in Hogsmeade," Selwyn said with a tone that left no question of whose father's opinion was superior. "So long as they let dirty-blooded filth into this place, we'll stay in our estate thank you very much."_

_"Marion, we're going now," Selwyn's father said, and I looked up to watch my friend's face go as red as a dragon's fire. Mark and I had to try _very_ hard not to smirk at his embarrassment as he was taken away by his scary-looking father after we muttered goodbyes and Merry Christmases._

_"Goodbye _Marion_," I said once Selwyn was out of sight, and we snickered. He would kill us if he caught us calling him that. Mark didn't say anything else, as he usually did; I it seemed like something was bothering him. "What?"_

_"What do you think?About-" Mark paused and looked around as if to make sure no one was listening. He dropped his voice, "-_mudbloods_."_

_"What do _I_ think?"_

I fell to my knees in the snow, clutching tightly at the wound in my stomach. I coughed violently, as if my body was trying to hawk out my guts. I gripped at the ground with my burned wand hand to steady myself, cringing at the pain. A wave of agony rose from my stomach and crimson splattered onto the white blanket before me: blood. That wasn't good.

My eyes drifted over the blistered, burned flesh of my arm and I saw it. The remnants of the tattoo on my forearm . It was distorted, just a blurred mess melding into ruined skin.

_Our lips were locked, lost in the moment of passion. I could feel her nails scraping through my hair while my hands ran over her slender body through her dress; we broke apart to draw breath and her hands fumbled on my shirt. Unthinkingly, I allowed her to pull it over my head and leaned in to kiss her again, my hands going to cup her face and-_

_She shrieked. _Shrieked_._

_I backed away in surprise as my eyes snapped open. Had I done something wrong? She grabbed my wrist and I understood, even before she yanked it around to reveal the tattoo. The fresh black brand on my flesh, the mark of the Dark Lord. She threw my arm away from her as if was suddenly repulsive._

_"Y-You're one of _them_," she said, backing away from me with horror in her eyes._

_"So what if I am?" I said, folding my arms and meeting her eyes with a glare. "I'm still _me_, Adina. It doesn't change _anything_."_

_"It changes _everything, a_nd you bloody well know it! What the hell were you thinking?! What do you expect to accomplish running around with a bunch of sadistic freaks?!"_

_"I don't understand why you're upset; I'm doing the _right _thing."_

_"The right thing? My dad is a _muggle_-born. I'm a _half_-blood. Those psychos would _kill_ us just for that; do actually think that's acceptable?"_

_"They're willing to overlook the impurities in your blood if you're on their side," I said truthfully, but she actually seemed to look _more_ offended by this. "I don't care about your blood being bad-"_

_"There's nothing wrong with my blood!"_

_Adina stormed off and I ran after her in irritation. Why couldn't she just see that this was the right thing? Why did she have to be so bloody difficult? I reached her as she got to the front door, grabbing her again. A gaggle of children ran by the window, laughing as they chased after each other on toy broomsticks._

_"Look at that," I said to Adina, nodding my head in their direction. "That's how it's _supposed_ to be. In Hogsmeade you know everyone and they know you, it's _safe_ for kids to play in the streets. And they don't have to hide; no one has to hide who they are. You don't get that in filthy _muggle_ streets."_

_"How would you know? You've never been on a muggle street in your life," Adina said, and I couldn't help the flare of anger I felt. She knew damn well that wasn't true._

_"I have been on a muggle street before and my Father _died _there, _murdered. They_ killed are _vermin_, Adina! They poison the air with their… _machineries_ and pollute the water with their _garbage_. They're like animals. They _need _to be eradicated."_

_Adina looked at me for a long moment as if she was seeing me for the first time._

_"Have they made you kill anyone yet?" _

It didn't matter that the stupid Mark was ruined now— it was useless now that the Dark Lord was dead. I'd seen him die with my own eyes; beat by the same teenager who'd beaten him as a baby. Adina was right; it _had_ all been for nothing.

Bitterly, I grabbed my wand and pushed myself up off of the ground. I wavered shakily as my body remained injured, but my legs managed it. I just wanted to go home, to the nice cobbled streets where it was safe and magical, where no one _died_.

_"Alright so remember, we're here for Christmas presents for your _mother_ and _not_ to look at the latest broom," Father said, and I nodded without looking up from watching the footprints embedded in the snowy pathway, wondering what the difference between ours and muggles' were about to cross the road to the Leaky Cauldron to get into Diagon Alley._

_"Alrigh', gezz yer dough!" a man said and we turned to see a grubby looking muggle standing before us, dressed in baggy navy clothes. He was holding a peculiar metal lump that I'd never seen before; was it some kind of toy?_

_"_Excuse_ me?" Father said, pulling himself to his full height and looking down on the muggle as if he was dirt. I thought he looked like dirt._

_"Yer money! 'and it over or I blow ya away!" the man said and waved the thing in his hand threateningly, Father gave a derisive snort._

_"I don't think so; I don't answer to muggle scum, and I'm certainly not afraid of one so inferior as yourself," Father said, and put his hand on my shoulder. "Come now, my boy."_

_BANG._

_It happened fast—the muggle's face was contorted in rage and suddenly the thing in his hand had smoke coming from the end of it. I heard my father gasp and his hand left my shoulder, watched as he fell backwards onto the snow clutching at his chest. The muggle ran off and I crouched in fear at my father's side, terror creeping into me as I saw the scarlet stain seeping out from under his hand. _

_"D-Dad…?" I asked in shock. I had no idea what to do or what had even happened._

_My dad looked at me as he drew his final breath and died there in the snow right in front of me. I caught sight the footprints leading off down the street, embers of anger flickering off the grief in my heart. My dad would never leave footprints again because of that muggle._

I would never get _how_ people could defend them. Poor, sweet little muggles living their lives without magic, defenseless little things, weren't they? No. In Muggle Studies, they _conveniently_ left out how muggles are obsessed with creating weapons to kill each other. I'd seen their 'guns', I'd read about their 'bombs'. I did my research.

I coughed again, so forcefully that it made me waver on my feet, but I didn't fall this time. I gazed back out into the swirling vortex of white all around me before pushing on blindly once more; I had to be close to home by now.

_I apparated numbly to the cold street corner, pulled my cloak tighter around myself and stared through the falling snow. I hated Diagon Alley. It was the first time I'd been back since my father's death. Mum had had to get my Hogwarts supplies for the rest of my school time, and not even promises of meeting up with my friends could make me change my mind. But I had to come now, because there were no Undertakers in Hogsmeade and my mother's funeral had to be arranged. _

_All I could focus on was the blanket of snow on the ground over the spot where he'd died. There were no footprints there anymore. I had just started walking to the Leaky Cauldron when I was distracted by an odd clinking sound; I turned and saw a man through the snow. _

_It was the same grubby man in the matching navy muggle clothes. The man who had killed my father._

_He saw me watching and ran. But I followed the murderer as he dove into an empty alleyway, and he quickly realized that he'd made a mistake. He'd run into a dead end. He tried to flee, but I smashed my fist into his face and he fell to the ground. I withdrew my wand to aim at the man._

_"Alrigh', alrigh'!" the man snarled. "Keep that crappy stereo if you'd loike."_

_"You killed my Dad!" I shouted._

_"That posh stuck up bloke 'oo called me garbage?" the man said before laughing harshly as he started to get up. "Yeah, I killed 'im. So wot? 'e 'ad it comin' insultin' me loike that. And I'm not afraid of sum stick, ya kna? Idiot."_

_"Shut up! Or- Or-"_

_"Or wot? You'll poke me wif a stick?" What could I do? I couldn't tell the Ministry. It was a crime to attack muggles, but they didn't give a damn if muggles attacked wizards. If I wanted justice then I'd have to get it myself._

"Avada Kedavra."

I was trembling now, my legs were feeling weaker. Where was Hogsmeade, damn it? I had to be getting closer. I needed to get out of this cold, out of the snow, and tend to my wounds. I didn't understand... I got the direction right. If I hadn't, I'd be the forest, the castle or the bloody lake by now. This was the right way so why wasn't I _home_ yet?

I fell to my knees once more, knocked down by a more violent coughing fit.. I just had to get home—I hadn't been there for so long; I had to leave once Adina ratted me out as a Death Eater—even though I hadn't _done _anything yet.

I tried to dig my fingers into the ground, grip it against the pain but I was surprised to feel stone. I tried to pick it up to get it out of the way, only to realize it was glued down. Who glued down a _rock_? An odd, rounded rock, very much like…

_"Catch me if you can!" I said and laughed as Adina and Mark pelted after me, their small feet bouncing off the cobblestones while I zoomed over it on my toy broomstick._

_"It's not fair if you're on a broom!" Adina said from behind me. _

_I smirked back. "Mark _and_ Selwyn _and_ I can always keep up when one of us is on this," I said, hoping she'd give up since I wasn't _supposed_ to play with her, but Mark had asked her to since Selwyn was sick. "Can't half-bloods keep with pure-bloods?"_

_Without warning, Adina threw herself at me. I yelped in surprise as she hit me and we went tumbling off the toy broomstick onto the cobblestones. _

_I sat up rubbing my head. Adina was faster; she leaped up and grabbed my broom with a sweet smile on her face. I had to admit, that was impressive._

_"Yes, I think we can," Adina said and I noticed Mark watching us, trying not to laugh. She mounted the broom. "The question you should be asking now, is if pure-bloods can keep up with half-bloods."_

_"_Hey! _That's_ my _broom! Adina!" I protested as she zoomed off. I scrambled to chase after her while Mark doubled over laughing._

I hastily started shoving aside the snow, clawing at it away with my burned hand to see the ground beneath. And sure enough, I unearthed a very familiar set of cobblestones. The ones that paved Hogsmeade. I looked around in confusion, my eyes drifting through the falling flecks of snow, but I saw nothing. Even with the storm, I should be able to see the shadowy shapes of buildings. And it was eerily silent except for the breeze; shouldn't I be able to hear at least _something_ from a town full of people?

"I don't- I don't _understand_…"

"What's not to understand?" voice said, and I spun to see Mark, standing there all war-torn but in better shape than me. Well, of course he was; Aurors were trained. Death Eaters were just shoved out with whatever skills they had already.

"How- How did you follow me?" I managed to ask. I gestured vaguely behind me before having to put the burned hand back on the ground for support. "I left no footprints."

"No, but you did leave a trail of blood," Mark said. "How bad is it?"

He crouched by me and picked up my wand; I didn't stop him as he pocketed it. I was in no condition to fight; a First Year could probably take me right now. I looked down and realized for the first time that the arm clutching at the wound at my stomach was soaked in blood—it must've been leaving the trail. It was worse than I thought. Mark pried my arm away, peering at the wound before letting me put my arm back.

"You should've stayed," he said, his expression unreadable. "They might have been able to do something for your injuries then—it's too late now."

"Yeah right," I tried to scoff, but only spat out more blood. "Like they'd… help Death Eaters. More like… throw… us to Dem- Dementors. I just wanted to go… home but… I keep… _not_ getting… there."

"Home?" Mark said and looked at me as if I was rather mad. "Don't you know?"

"Know _what_?"

"Hogsmeade was destroyed when You-Know-Who took it," Mark said, and I froze with horror. "He razed it to the ground and survivors were either killed or arrested. Why do you think there aren't any buildings? Why do you think there's no people?"

"I didn't… I _didn't_ know," I breathed, and looked around the silent mountainside. I blinked back tears. "Is… Is Adina okay?"

Mark said nothing.

I didn't even bother to wipe the blood from my mouth; I was dying whether I tried to stem the bleeding or not. I glanced at Mark, seeing him turn away from me.

"Y-You're just… just going to… l-leave… me here?" I croaked as my former friend started to walk away from me.

"Why?" Mark said, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder, but he didn't stop. "You're not going anywhere."

I collapsed into the snow as he walked away, my strength failing me. The snow didn't felt soft, it was just cold. I was too weak to shiver; it was too hard to even breathe. I watched Mark walk away until he vanished into the white haze, until I was all alone in the wasteland. Not a footprint to be seen. Not anymore.

My eyes closed. "I'm sorry," I whispered.


	14. Harry Potter and the Simpsons

**"******Blurring the Lines**"**

_**Summary:**__ Homer Simpson stood before them as vividly as if they was seeing him on a television screen; Harry had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't dreaming_  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Cross your story with a sub category within Cartoons_  
_**Rating:**__ K+, __**Genre:**__ Humor, __**Characters:**__ Harry Potter, Homer Simpson, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley_, _**World:**__ Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 1,126_  
_**Beta:**__ TheNextFolchart_

_**Notes: **__This particular chapter crosses over with the Simpsons  
_

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Simpsons  
**

* * *

"Okay, Harry, hold that steady because we need to add just the right amount," Hermione told him strictly.

Harry did his best to hold the vial of purple liquid steady. He poured it slowly enough for Hermione to gauge the right amount, trickling it into a measuring beaker rather than the cauldron directly to ensure they got the right amount. He was rather regretting getting roped into helping Hermione with extra credit Potions work.

"Hey guys," Ron offered cheerfully and abruptly.

Harry was so shocked at Ron's sudden appearance that his hand slipped and he accidentally dumped the purple liquid into the cauldron. Hermione shrieked as it exploded slightly, spraying all three of them with ashes.

"Harry!" Hermione complained. "I told you to keep it steady!"

"It's okay, it's okay we can fix it." Harry, who couldn't see through his soot-covered glasses, grabbed what he thought felt like Ashwinder Eggs and dumped them in as he spoke. He wished he still had the Half-Blood Prince's book. "We just need to add some Ashwinder Eggs to even it out."

"Don't, Harr—argh, it's ruined it now!"

"Mate, those weren't Ashwinder Eggs," Ron chuckled as Harry took off his classes to clean them off.

"And you, Ronald," said Hermione. "This is your fault! Why are you even here?!"

"I just wanted to ask your opinions on this as a gift for Dad for his birthday," Ron explained. Harry put his now-clean glasses back on and saw his friend holding out an old Simpsons DVD boxset with the cover featuring Homer Simpsons' dopey face. "Got it from Dean, he says it's a famous Muggle show. You know how Dad is about Muggles."

"Well, he wouldn't be able to watch it without a DVD play—" Harry started to say.

"Ask us later," snapped Hermione. "We have to fix this!"

At this, Hermione went to shoo Ron away. Ron backed away quickly, but his elbow caught the cauldron, knocking it over and spilling it over the DVD. Ron yelped in surprise and dropped it as it started to shake, fizzing and frothing. They all took a step back, watching the rattling box before it erupted like a volcano, spewing a stream of bright colours…bright colours that started to morph into a cartoonish blob…_literally _a cartoonish blob, Harry realized as it swirled into a rotund white shape with blue legs, a yellow bald head, and oversized round eyes.

Homer Simpson stood before them as vividly as if they was seeing him on a television screen; Harry had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't dreaming. They all leaped another step back as Homer moved, reaching his arm around to… scratch his butt.

Homer belched. "Hey, Marge, this isn't Moe's," he whined as he looked around, starting to look worried. "Marge?"

"Erm…I-I don't think Marge is here," Harry stammered when he realized Hermione and Ron seemed incapable of doing more than gaping. Homer's enormous eyes turned to him. "You're in Hogwarts, in England."

"Really? Huh, England is even weirder looking then I thought." Homer looked around before scowling. "Wait a minute, how did I get to England?"

"I'm not sure." Hermione had apparently recovered from the shock of having a cartoon character come to life (unlike Ron who continued to stare wide-eyed). "You see, I'm a witch, and I was making a potion that lets the drinker experience their dreams in a more three-dimensional way, sort of like a Pensieve, but—"

"Boring!" Homer moaned before excitedly hopping up and down on his tiptoes. "Can we get something to eat? I'm hungry. You got to have some good food to eat in this place, right?"

"Well I think it would be better if we tried to figure out—"

"You do eat food in England, right?" Homer asked, looking suddenly afraid.

"Of course we eat food," Hermione insisted as if it was obvious while Ron tentatively reached out and poked Homer's stomach. It rippled.

"Blimey, you're real," Ron gasped as he leaped back again.

"Of course I'm real. You British are the funny looking ones," Homer said.

"Funny looking? Speak for yourself, you great big blob."

"Ron, be nice to the cartoon character you brought to life when you spilled the potion," Harry said, feeling the need to try to keep the peace.

"I didn't bring him to life!" Ron protested. "If anything, your potion ruined Dad's birthday present."

"Ooh candy," Homer said excitedly and Harry glanced back as the cartoon went to grab a handful of Eyes of Newt.

"No, don't take that it poisonous!" Harry cried and Hermione grabbed Homer's arm to stop him.

"Aw." Homer moaned and hung his head unhappily, moving his hand away. His stomach rippled as it growled. "Stupid poisonous British candy."

"It's not candy, it's Doxy eggs," Ron corrected him incorrectly.

Hermione sighed. "Ronald, you need to pay more attention in class. Honestly, you should recognize Eye of Newt by now."

"Well, what about that? Is_ that _candy?" Homer pointed to the Ashwinder Eggs Harry had been trying to grab.

"No."

"What about that?" Homer asked, pointing to another ingredient.

"No."

"What about that?" Homer asked again, pointing to a third ingredient.

"No."

"What about—"

"Nothing on the table should be ingested," Hermione told him finally.

Homer looked puzzled. "Ingested…?"

"It shouldn't be eaten."

"Why do you have a table of food if none of it can be eaten?" Homer demanded, folding his arms crossly.

"Because it's not food, it's potion ingredients!" Hermione insisted in frustration. "I told you, I'm a _witch_."

"You sure are," Homer muttered moodily.

"Aren't you concerned at all about getting back to…wherever it is you came from?"

"Not when I'm going to starve to death first."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Ron, you and Harry go feed him and I'll work on trying to reverse this. And try not to let anyone see him; we shouldn't really be messing with these ingredients."

"Why do I have to feed him?" Ron moaned.

"Because it's your fault. Now go."

"Woohoo!" Homer cried happily, jumping into a puddle of the potion as he punched the air. He froze as a vortex appeared around him and looked down. "Uh-oh."

Homer screamed as he was sucked into the vortex of colour, back into the DVD box which shuddered violently for a minute before going still. They watched it for a minute, but nothing more happened.

"Well…that happened," Ron said as he scratched his nose. "Anyone else suddenly hungry?"


	15. Life and Death

**"******Go Wild!**"**

_**Summary:**__ He couldn't lose her._  
_**Prompt(s):**__ None_  
_**Rating:**__ T, __**Genre:**__ Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, __**Characters:**__ [Nicolas Flamel x Perenelle Flamel]_, _**World:**__ Founders_  
_**Word Count:**__ 2,651_  
_**Beta:**__ HP-Forever-XX_

_**Notes: **Slight bit of background: this t__akes place during the 1300s when Flamels were still young and not immortal, coincidentally the Black Death plague of the muggle world was sweeping Europe (where they lived) at this time  
_

* * *

**Life and Death  
**

* * *

Nicolas Flamel wandered into the kitchen of the home he shared with his wife, suppressing a yawn, for he was not long up, and would much rather still be sleeping if it wasn't for his job. A boring one.

He rather regretted following his father's wishes and becoming a scribe in the Ministry, possibly the most uninteresting job on the planet. The pay was decent though; not great enough to do things he wanted, but decent. Not that it mattered. Even if he had the Galleons, he wouldn't have the time to travel anyway; he barely had time to keep up his hobby of Alchemy due to the restrictive hours of his job. Besides, Perenelle was pregnant now, so that changed things.

Hermes – his owl – swooped in the window, dropping the mail on the table for him before flying to his perch. Nicolas caressed its head gently in gratitude before picking up the letters. One from the Ministry informing about a new law passed by the Wizards' Council, which banned Quidditch from being a certain amount of miles away from Muggle towns and villages, one from a friend of his, and one for Perenelle that looked like her father's handwriting. He tore open the one from his friend and was still skimming through it when he heard Perenelle come in. He turned to see her smiling.

"Good morning," Perenelle greeted him with a peck on the lips. Rather surprisingly, as it was the morning, he noticed the scent of soap rather than vomit. "Guess who doesn't have morning sickness for once?"

"Hermes?" Nicolas guessed, smirking as she batted him playfully. He kissed her again and circled his arms around her gently; her usually slender body was starting to sport a slight bump. "I'm glad you're feeling better, honey, someone really needs to invent a better Anti-Nausea Potion."

"Tell me about it – is that a letter for me?"

Her sentence changed midway as she noticed the one from her father. Nicolas handed it to her and left her to read it as he went to make her some tea. She was pregnant, and he found himself feeling especially compelled to take care of her; he didn't want anything to happen to her or the baby. She was his world – he didn't know what he'd do without her.

He brought the tea over and found her frowning worriedly at the letter.

"I think I'm going to visit my family today," Perenelle announced, as she put the piece of paper down. "My mother's not well."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Nicolas asked before he could stop himself, earning a sharp scowl from his wife. "I mean, it's just… They're _M__uggles__,_ and there are a _lot_ of bad happenings in the Muggle world right now. It's dangerous. There's that war –"

"I'm perfectly capable of apparating."

"But you're pregnant –"

"It doesn't affect my ability to apparate."

"– and there's that plague going around –"

"Can't wizards cure all Muggle ailments?" Perenelle asked, her tone switching to one of curiosity, which took him by surprise.

"Not all of them. And this Black Death isn't one of them – the Ministry is actually very much trying to keep it from spreading to the wizarding populace, because they haven't seen it before so they fear it," Nicolas admitted seriously, and took her hands in his. "Which is why I want you to be careful, _please_."

"I'm not going to abandon my family just because there _might_ be a risk," Perenelle told him, and he looked away anxiously before feeling her squeeze his hand gently. "But I promise you I'll be careful. Besides, my mother has a vicious cough – _not_ The Plague."

Nicolas, albeit reluctantly, had to let her go; he couldn't force her to stay home where it was safe. He worried about her through work though, only feeling better after he was compelled to look up symptoms of the Black Death. Thankfully, coughing wasn't one of them, so it seemed likely her mother wasn't infected. Yet still he worried. Her family weren't very well off either, so he hoped she would be able to have enough to eat. He was relieved to find her home when he returned from work – not so much, however, to see her raiding his stores of ingredients.

"Erm… What are you doing?" Nicolas asked her with a frown. Her eyes flicked to him for a second before she merely continued with her task.

"I told you, my mother is sick," Perenelle said seriously.

"Is it –"

"It's _not_ the plague!" Perenelle snapped. She stopped, looking extremely stressed. Nicolas went over to rub soothing circles on her back, as he saw she was upset, blinking away tears rapidly. "I've seen the bodies littering the streets, alive and dead. They have these lumps and these black spots, but Mother doesn't have that. It was just a cough – well, along with a fever, until she started coughing up blood. She's deteriorating so fast, it _terrifies_ me. Spells are slowing the symptoms down but not curing the cause, so I decided to cook up some potions. What's the point of magic if I can't even use it to save the people I love?"

"Some things not even magic can save," he offered sagely.

"Well, I won't know if I don't try, will I?" Perenelle countered, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand; he noticed some red marks on it and gasped in horror. "What?"

"What's wrong with your hand?!"

"Oh, just flea bites." She shrugged it off, along with his hand. "Muggles can't repel them like we can, I didn't think of it until I got bit by some of the buggers. It's itchy, not fatal. Nothing to worry about."

"Still…" Nicolas took out his wand, healing her bites. She gave him a weak smile in gratitude.

"I'll probably stay with her tonight. Honestly, I'm not even sure she'll make it…" she trailed off, choking on a sob, and he put his arm around her gently, in order to try and comfort her.

"Why don't we just go together?"

"No, you need your rest," Perenelle said with a shake of her head. "You have to work in the morning; we need you to _not_ get the sack right now – for the baby's sake. I know where you are if I need you, but I think I'll be okay."

"Well, if you're sure," Nicolas muttered unhappily with a scowl, and kissed her gently on the cheek. "Be careful; remember to take measures to stop _yourself _from getting infected."

"I'll be fine. I'm using spells to keep me from being infected, so I shouldn't get sick."

For the second time that day, Nicolas had to let her go, against his better judgement. He did see the logic in it, but he also saw the logic in not letting his pregnant wife hang out with her possibly dying mother. He couldn't keep her from her family though, and trying would just make her even more determined to do it, except maybe this time she would be too distracted at her anger with him to remember to take care of herself.

The fact she'd worried about his job for the baby meant she probably worried for it with herself too, so she _was_ being careful. Except about the fleas that one time – but he thought she'd remember more not to now, unless flea bites were dangerous, because they certainly didn't _sound_ good. But no, she'd sounded pretty sure. Fleas were just muggle pests; they couldn't do that much damage, surely.

Nicolas still slept very little that night, and his eyes kept drifting to the window, expecting and hoping for news from his wife.

Nothing.

He was forced to head to work unhappily, praying Perenelle would be home by the time he got back. If not, he'd just go to her family.

It was dark when he returned home, leading him to believe she was gone. He lazily waved his wand to light up the fire anyway, as he'd need to feed Hermes before he left. He was surprised to see Perenelle _was__,_ in fact, home. She sat in her favourite armchair by the fire, her arms wrapped around herself, and her beautiful face was stained by tears.

"She didn't make it, did she?" Nicolas asked quietly, with a heavy heart. She shook her head, her whole body starting to shake too, as she started crying again. He wrapped his arms around her gently, and let her cry into his shoulder, stroking her hair in a soothing manner. "It's not your fault, Perenelle, you did all you could."

She cried herself to sleep in his arms, and he ended up carrying her to bed, sadly climbing in next to her. At least she was alright, although oddly cold from the way she shivered. He threw an extra blanket over her for warmth. He drifted off mournful, but grateful for her life, deciding to name the baby after her mother, in some way, would be a good way to honour her memory.

It seemed only an instant later that Nicolas was awoken by the sound of Perenelle's loud vomiting; time had to have passed though, as light was filtering in. He scowled, as it seemed to have stopped for the past few days prior. He jumped out of his bed in shock as he realised she was throwing up on the floor. His scowl only deepened as he went to help her; she'd never failed to get to a lavatory before hurling before.

He held her hair back out of the way, and rubbed soothing circles against her back, offering encouragement until the episode seemed to have passed. It seemed oddly worse than before. He went to help her back up into the bed, taking her hand and almost dropping it in horror as he caught sight of the now blackened flesh on it.

"I-I d-don't th-think those fl-fleas w-were as harmless as I th-thought," Perenelle croaked weakly.

Nicolas felt as if his heart exploded, but thankfully his brain had a cold calm. He helped her shaking body back into their bed. He just needed a Healer – he absolutely shouldn't be panicking. The mother had had a cough; Perenelle didn't, so she couldn't have whatever killed her yet. At least he didn't think so. It _couldn't_ be so. He couldn't lose her.

Perenelle moaned suddenly in pain, clutching at her stomach.

"I'm going to get a Healer, okay?! I'm going to get a Healer then I'll be right back!" Nicolas promised, doing his best, and probably failing miserably, not to yelp in panic.

His hand was shaking so much it was hard to scribble down the words onto the parchment for a Healer Summons. He rolled up the parchment and desperately shoved it into Hermes' talons. He hoped owls were also smart enough to know when the time for urgency was at hand.

Rushing back into their bedroom, Nicolas casted a quick charm to clean up the vomit, and wiped the sweat from his brow. He felt sick. He was so worried – all he wanted was for her to be okay.

Nicolas did his best to care for his wife, and try easing her symptoms while he waited on the Healer. He thought she was getting worse though; her fever was spiking, her abdominal pain wasn't really easing, and the blackness was spreading. He feared the only reason she'd stopped throwing up was because her stomach was running out of content. He bounced between caring for her and mixing up some Alchemical concoctions to ease her pain.

Nicolas was hot from running around between his wife and his workstation. When the Healer finally arrived in the afternoon, he gave a garbled explanation of what had happened.

"Ah, well it's not well known to wizards, but there are three strains of the Black Death, and it seems your wife has one. The worst kind too," the Healer told him, as Nicolas wiped the sweat from his brow, trembling fearfully at the thought. The Healer scowled. "Are _you_ alright?"

"Me? I'm fine." Nicolas brushed it off dismissively and shivered. "What are you going to do save my –"

His sentence was cut off as a hacking cough overcame him, and he slumped down onto the chair, a cold fear seeping through him as it dawned on him that maybe his feeling hot had nothing to do with running around. He allowed himself to be looked over quickly, not really needing to hear the words to know he was also infected.

How had this even happened? A few days ago they'd been perfectly happy, and now their _lives_ were hanging in danger – their _actual_ lives. They weren't even old; they shouldn't have to deal with this now. He hated it. He was healthier than Perenelle for now, so he spent his final few hours forced to watch her deteriorate. She just drifted in and out of consciousness. Weak. _Dying_. The love of his life was dying. And so was he.

Nicolas' lucidity passed, and he became trapped in a blurred haze of illness and fear. He'd never been so terrified in his life. He'd never realised how afraid of death he was until just then; he didn't want to die, he didn't want his wife to die, and he didn't want his unborn child to die. He wasn't sure which would be worse – dying or waking to find she had perished.

Death was horrible. Why, with all the magic in the world, had no one thought of a way to stop death?

"How are you feeling?" Perenelle's familiar voice asked as he stirred, feeling utterly drained of all energy, but more aware than usual.

"Don't know," Nicolas mumbled weakly, as his eyes shifted to his beautiful bride. "You?"

"I came out of it a few days ago," Perenelle told him. Her eyes started watering as she looked down. When Nicolas' eyes followed her gaze, he noticed she wasn't pregnant anymore. "But I lost the baby. They don't think I'll be able to have more. I've been waiting by your side ever since. They said if your fever broke, you'd live. You should be okay now."

Nicolas managed to feel both a flood of relief and a knife to the heart at the same time. They'd lost their child. It hadn't even been born yet, but it still hurt. What kind of father was he, to have failed at protecting his child before it was even born?

He blinked back the tears his eyes wanted to shed, not wanting to cry. Not right now. Instead he reached out to squeeze Perenelle's hand, albeit rather pathetically weak in comfort, seeing the sorrow on her face.

"At least we still have each other," he offered gently, while she blinked back her own tears.

"Until death do us part."

"I won't let it," Nicolas promised very seriously.

If there was a way, then he would find it. With all that magic could do, why not stop death? Death had taken his child, but he wouldn't let it take them too. He couldn't. He knew there were some things magic couldn't save, but he wouldn't know if he didn't try.


	16. A Wooden Family

**"******Pairing Diversity**"**

_**Summary:**__ "It was my birthday yesterday and you weren't there," Oliver said bluntly without looking at him._  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Oliver Wood paired with a character_  
_**Rating:**__ K+, __**Genre:**__ Family, __**Characters:**__ Oliver Wood, Mr Wood_, _**World:**__ Books, Pre-Hogwats,_  
_**Word Count:**__ 2,378_  
_**Beta:**__ natida  
_

_**Notes: **Mr Wood is not an OC, he is introduced briefly to Harry in Book 4 at the World Cup and has his own page in the wiki even  
_

* * *

**A Wooden Family  
**

* * *

Oliver Wood sat, head propped up in one hand, his elbow on the table and his stubby little legs swinging aimlessly beneath it as they were too short to reach the floor. He gazed over the plate in front of him at the fireplace ahead, doing his best to ignore the hunger wriggling around inside his tummy. It was becoming harder and harder to ignore the delicious smell that wafted into his nostrils; it enraged the hunger monster so much that it finally growled.

"Come on, sweetheart," Mummy urged him gently, and he set his mouth stubbornly. "Why don't we just eat?"

"No," Oliver barked, folding his arms and pouting. "Not without Daddy. Daddy _said_ he would be here."

"He also said he might be a bit late, remember?"

"_Yes_," Oliver admitted obstinately and pointedly avoided looking in her direction. "But it _is_ later and he's still not here. He said he would be here. Why isn't he here?"

"He's just busy with work," Mummy assured him, and he felt her squeeze his hand gently. He glanced up at her unhappily to see her smile encouragingly. "He has a big important project right now and if he does well then he'll get an even better job, with more money to buy you more toys. Wouldn't you like that?"

"I'd like it better if he was here for dinner. This is like the seventh time this week," Oliver grumbled, and held up his hands to indicate seven – or maybe six; he was still learning numbers. Mummy sighed, her expression softening. "He said he'd be here this time, Mummy! He _said_!"

"Well, how about we just _start _eating now, so that if he comes back we can still eat together, and if he doesn't then we don't go hungry?"

"_Well…_" Oliver mused, biting his lip as he considered her suggestion. He _supposed_ that would be acceptable, but he still didn't _like_ it… but his stomach growled again. "Okay. But we have to eat slowly, Mummy."

She gave a nod with a smile and he dug hungrily into his food. Despite his best efforts to go slower, he devoured it fairly quickly. No sign of Daddy.

He sat at the table afterwards; loyally waiting until Mummy finally made him go to bed. He tried to stay awake, but he was too sleepy, slipping away just as the fireplace flashed and his father returned.

It wouldn't be the last time, either.

…

"So _then_ I realized that I could climb the tree if I stood up on something so that I could reach the branch to pull myself up. But then Mummy called me for dinner before I could get up really higher so then I tried to climb back down but I climbed down onto the wrong side and I didn't have anything to step on so I jumped into a puddle on the other side of the tree," Oliver recounted breathlessly, briefing his Daddy on recent important events he kept missing. "And you'll never guess what, Daddy. Daddy?"

"What?" Daddy said without looking up from the long rolls of parchment he scribbling away on while Oliver was talking.

"It was _muddy_. Daddy, the puddle was muddy. Can you believe that? Who would have thought that it was muddy?" Oliver said in disbelief, throwing up his arms. Daddy just kept scribbling away and Oliver did his very best not to feel discouraged. "So that got my new cloak all covered in muddy water and Mummy told me off, but it's not fair, is it? Because I didn't know it was muddy and not cleared like normal water or I wouldn't have jumped into it. Probably."

Oliver paused, waiting expectantly to hear an agreement saying that he shouldn't have been in trouble for ruining his new cloak. But Daddy just kept writing. _Scribble, scribble, scribble_. Or maybe an agreement with Mummy that he should have been in trouble_? Scribble, scribble, scribble_. Or just _any_ thoughts on the topic? _Scribble, scribble, scribble_. Or just acknowledgement that he'd spoken? _Scribble, scribble, scribble._

"Daddy, are you even listening to me? Daddy?" Oliver complained, nudging Daddy's arm to get his attention, which caused Daddy to cry out as the quill veered across the rows of neat little scribbles.

"Don't do that, Oliver!" Daddy yelled, whipping out his wand and frantically waving it over the ink.

"I didn't mean to," Oliver said guiltily, unhappily twiddling his thumbs. "I just wanted you to listen to me."

"Well, I just want to do my work, and if you mess it up I have to start all over again," Daddy told him as he leaned back again, sighing heavily and rubbing his eyes, which had dark rings beneath them. "Why don't you just go and play, and tell me when I'm done, okay?"

"Do you promise?"

"Y- Well, when I finish this I have to take it back to work and maybe do a few bits this-"

"It's the week_end_," Mummy pointed out in exasperation, stopping midway through wiping the counter nearby to throw her arms up in the air. "Can't it wait until Monday?"

"No, it can't. It needs be done this weekend or it won't be set up in time for me to do the work I need to do on Monday, it knocks the whole schedule off and sets us behind," Daddy said, and Oliver sighed unhappily, turning away.

Daddy took his arms and turned him around gently to face him. "Look, as soon as I get home from work, I'm going to listen to your story with my full, complete attention. I _promise_. But just for now I need to do this; so go and play, okay?"

"Okay," Oliver muttered. He bounced off the chair to go and play, feeling more enthusiastic when he heard the fireplace and knew Daddy would be back home soon to spend time to him.

But Oliver was sound asleep by the time Daddy got back, and it wouldn't be the last weekend it happened, either.

…

Oliver Wood sat once again at the kitchen table; head propped up in one hand, his elbow on the table and his stubby little legs swinging aimlessly beneath it, still too short to reach the floor. This time he wasn't the only one. All around the table was a selection of kids Mummy had invited to his birthday party, all fidgeting and glaring at him impatiently. He was no longer staring at the fireplace over a plate of food, but rather over a pile of his own brightly wrapped presents.

"Come on, Oliver," one of the kids whined in boredom.

"Yeah, open your presents."

"Hurry up."

"It's your birthday."

"Don't you want presents?"

"The sooner you open them the sooner we get cake."

"I want cake."

"Don't you like cake?"

"Oliver?" Mummy prompted with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know you don't want to start without your Dad but he said he might be a little late so wh-"

"I know, Mummy," Oliver cut her off, sighing and putting on his best smile as he pulled a present towards him. "Daddy's not coming. He said he would… but he won't. If he isn't here then I don't care anymore, no point keeping everyone else waiting. Let's open my presents and get cake." And as he turned away from her he muttered, "Let's make sure there's none left for Daddy."

The kids at the table cheered and he tore into his gifts.

He was right, of course. Daddy didn't come to his birthday party. Daddy didn't even get back in time to say good night to him. In fact, Oliver only knew Daddy came home at all because of the loud yelling coming from downstairs.

"HOW COULD YOU MISS YOUR ONLY SON'S BIRTHDAY!?" Mummy's voice screamed, making Oliver jump under his blankets.

"How disappointed was he?" Daddy's voice said, sounding sad.

"He doesn't even care anymore, that's how disappointed he is! He's lost all faith in you. _I've_ lost all faith in you. His _birthday_? _Really_? His freaking _birthday_?!"

"I tried to get away but I was busy-"

"You didn't try hard enough, then, did you?!"

"But you don't understand, I finally got the promotion!" Daddy protested, sounding very excited.

There was a long pause.

"Great, I'm sure that makes it all okay," Mummy said in a tone that made Oliver think she meant the opposite.

"No it doesn't," Oliver muttered bitterly, not even knowing what 'promotion' meant, and he threw his blankets over his head to drown out the voices.

…

"Hey Oliver," Daddy greeted him cheerfully as he sat down beside him. Oliver was eating his breakfast. "How are you doing?"

"It was my birthday yesterday and you weren't there," Oliver said bluntly without looking at him.

"I know, and I'm very sorry, but I have great news about my work-"

"Then go tell your work," Oliver snapped not feeling like talking. He finished his food and pushed his plate away without looking at Daddy. "Mummy, I finished my breakfast. Can I go play now?"

"Sure, sweetheart," Mummy agreed immediately.

"Why don't I go play with you? I have the whole da-"

"No, I'm good," Oliver cut him off, hurrying off to go play while his mother mouthed 'I told you so' at his father.

…

"Where are we going?" Oliver whined unhappily at Daddy as he trudged through a stupid field after the stupid Portkey, which he vowed to never use again because it felt so bad.

"It's a surprise," Daddy insisted in an enthusiastic tone, rather opposite to his own.

"I want to go home. I want Mummy."

"Oliver, just come on," Daddy said, trying to take his hand. But Oliver stubbornly yanked it away and crossed his arms. He was still mad at him for missing his birthday. His _birthday_. Who knew how often birthdays came around?

"I don't like it. I want to go home," Oliver stated as the approached a stupid crowd and a stupid… strange looking building. "Daddy what's that strange building?"

"You'll see."

Daddy took his hand while he was distracted by his surprise, and led him through the crowd. He spoke briefly to a man at the entrance and gave him some Galleons before they went inside… or, well, sort of, because there _was_ no roof. Then they went up some stairs, up and up past lots of rows of seats that made Oliver feel very small. And then Oliver started to get a hint of where they might be.

"Daddy, is this a Quidditch place?" Oliver asked in awe, and Daddy gave him a glowing smile.

"Yep, you're going to see your first Quidditch match today, and we have some of the best seats," Daddy said excitedly.

Oliver tried to hide the fact that he was impressed, determined to be mad at Daddy for missing his birthday and for all the times he wasn't there.

"Quidditch isn't that great," he snorted stubbornly.

They reached the top and Daddy led them to seats in one of the top rows; now it was very obviously a Quidditch pitch, like the ones he had seen in pictures. Oliver tried very hard not to be blown away at the massive size of the stadium and the amazing height. He always wanted to go higher and higher, that's why he liked trying to climb trees; and his toy broomstick had been his favourite birthday present.

His earlier thoughts faded away entirely. The Quidditch match hadn't even started yet, but it was already awesome.

He sat fidgeting, waiting with eager anticipation and staring with full focus at the empty pitch. The crowd seemed to take forever to file in and find their seats.

Finally, loud voices started talking around the stadium, and the players flew out onto the pitch. He watched with wide-eyed awe as the balls were released and the players tore through the air. It looked _so_ amazing! Oliver's only regret was that he wasn't one of those players zooming around. He found himself talking to Daddy more and more, asking about the rules and the players he only knew vaguely from the old magazines by Daddy's desk and the things he'd heard his uncles say.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the Quaffle was tackled from one of the players' hands, falling right towards them.

Without thinking, Oliver jumped up and grabbed it. He _grabbed_ it. He was holding the same ball the players were playing with! _Him_. He stared at it for a moment in shock, unable to comprehend his good fortune.

"Hey, kid!" a man called out, and Oliver looked around to see that one of the players had flown right in front of the stands to retrieve it. It was one of the ones in Puddlemere colours. "Could I have that back please?"

"Y-Yes Mister," Oliver stammered out, still shocked that one of them was addressing him. He tossed the Quaffle back to the player.

"Nice throw, kid, keep it up and you'll be playing for the Puddles in no time," the man said with a wink and a smile, waving to the cheering fans as he flew back onto the pitch.

Oliver sat back down, unable to contain the smile on his face or stop the giddy excitement brewing inside him. He'd caught the _actual Quaffle _in the game and thrown it to the _real_ player who actually thought _he_ could play for them someday. For Puddlemere! Clearly, they were the best. This match was the best, this _day_ was the best!

And he only had one person to thank.

"Daddy, this is the best day of my _life_," Oliver told Daddy seriously, but words didn't seem to be enough. He threw his arms around him and felt himself hugged tightly back. "Thank you, Daddy, you're the best."


	17. Battles of Hearts

**"******Oh, That's Such a Cliche**"**

_**Summary:**__ He didn't love her, he didn't even like her, and he certainly didn't want to marry her._  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Marriage Law_  
_**Rating:**__ T, __**Genre:**__ Romance, Suspense, __**Characters:**__ Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley, Astoria Greengrass, Gregory Goyle_, _**World:**__ Post-Hogwarts_  
_**Word Count:**__ 1,682_  
_**Beta:**__ natida_

_**Notes: **Is also AU, following if Voldemort had won  
_

* * *

**Battles of Hearts  
**

* * *

Draco Malfoy sighed heavily, pacing around the dressing room anxiously and resisting the urge to run his fingers through his neatly combed hair and mess it up again. You were supposed to look respectable at weddings; especially if that wedding was your own.

"Relax, mate," Goyle offered through a mouthful of hors d'oeuvres. He was sitting slouched in the corner beside his wife. "It'll be fine, she'll show. Right, love?"

"Yes, it's not like she can refuse. It's illegal to not show," his wife confirmed stiffly. "_Obey or face the consequences of the law_."

Draco spared a glance for the woman formerly known as Ginny Weasley; she was Mrs. Goyle now, and her stomach was starting to bulge from carrying their first child. An odd couple, perhaps, but that was the law now that the Dark Lord had won and the wizarding population had been crippled in the war. The Marriage Law had been enacted to ensure respectable Pureblood matches were formed, so that the wizarding world could strive a new, purer generation. Every unmarried citizen of age who was a Half-Blood or purer was subjected to it.

Draco didn't know what criteria they used for matches, or if it was random, but he did know that the only legal way out was to prove you were infertile.

Blood traitor or not, Ginny _was_ Pureblood and deemed worthy enough for Goyle. She was far less pleased about it than her husband; but she would do anything to spare the survivors of her traitor family from death.

He knew he shouldn't, but Draco found himself pitying her, even though the dark glint in her eye suggested she wanted to kill them all. It couldn't be easy to be married to an oaf like Goyle.

"What?" Ginny demanded of him sharply, noticing his stare.

"Nothing," Draco said, turning away with a shake of his head.

Ginny sighed with exasperation. "Why don't I go see how things are going?"

"Be my guest."

"She'll show," Goyle repeated as his wife got up and went to go investigate, taking the last handful of hors d'oeuvres off the tray and shoving them into his mouth. "And so what if she doesn't, anyway? They'll just match you up with someone else and she'll go to Azkaban."

"True," Draco muttered, glad for once that Goyle was too thick to notice how nervous he was.

"I _love_ this law," Goyle said with a grin, oozing bits of food from his teeth. "Never would've been able to land someone as hot as Ginny otherwise. Don't know why they didn't just do this in the first place. So much easier."

"Probably because people like having a choice. Being able to be with someone you like, someone you love," Draco pointed out, the words sticking in his throat as he flipped open his pocket watch to check the time. She should be here by now.

"But I do love Ginny. We're great together; we're having a kid and everything."

"But does _she_ love you?" Draco drawled irritably, wanting Goyle to _agree _with him about the law at least. "Is _she_ happy?"

"Course she is," Goyle scoffed. "Why wouldn't she be? She'd have said if she was unhappy."

Draco thought Ginny probably had plenty of reason to not risk complaining, but said nothing as he put his pocket watch away, letting out another breath as sweat started to build up on his brow. She should she be here by now. Where was she?

The door opened and his head shot up but it was just Ginny.

"She's here, you dolt," Ginny snapped. "There was an issue with the dress, but it's sorted now. She's getting ready."

He forced himself to nod. There was no way he could tell them that his coincidentally late bride was not the woman he was really waiting for. He didn't love _her_, he didn't even _like_ her, and he certainly didn't want to _marry_ her. He wanted Astoria.

"You're out of food," Goyle complained with a disappointed scowl, and stood up. "Guess I'd better go look- I mean, wait out there. She showed up so you don't need me now, right?"

Draco gestured his acceptance and his best man shuffled out. He sighed and leaned on a chair; he couldn't believe she hadn't come. It had been her idea to flee, after all; to run to a country not yet in the grip of the Dark Lord and risk his wrath just so they could be together.

"Unless that's not what's really bothering you," Ginny remarked, and his head shot up so fast he thought he heard it snap; he'd actually not realized she was still there. "Ron did always say Millicent Bulstrode wasn't a looker."

"I don't care what she looks like, I just care that she's not…" Draco started to snap but trailed off as he realized he'd said too much. He averted his eyes.

"Aw, Malfoy, you weren't planning to run off, were you?" Ginny taunted, and he kept his eyes steadily downward. "When did you grow a heart? Don't you need one of those to care about someone?"

"Doesn't matter, does it?" Draco said through clenched teeth, more to himself then to her. "She didn't show up."

He expected another jibe, but it was a moment before she spoke again.

"Maybe it's for the best, eh?" Ginny prompted quietly. "This way, at least the people you care about live, and you don't have to worry about your parents being executed right in front of because you tried to cross the border. Take it from me, Draco; no one can win at this battle."

He heard her footsteps and the door as she left.

Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe it was for the best that she hadn't shown up; at least they were guaranteed a life that way. Even if it was one where they wouldn't be together. They both had family and his own had never regained its former honour; there was nothing to protect his parents from being punished for his mistakes.

_Pop!_

"Merlin, I thought they were never going to go," a familiar voice exclaimed, and Draco spun around to greet to the short, raven-haired beauty, pulling her into an embrace and capturing her lips with his.

"I thought you weren't coming," Draco breathed as he broke the kiss, keeping her close and drinking in her brilliant blue eyes.

She laughed. "It was _my_ idea. Of course I was coming!" Astoria answered, and he managed a weak smile. "If anyone was going to chicken out, I thought it'd be you."

Draco lost his smile.

"You haven't… have you?" Astoria's excitement slipped away and was suddenly replaced with doubt. She stepped away from him.

"Well… you know, with… It's _dangerous_," Draco stammered, feeling flustered, and he swallowed as she tore her hands free of his grip. "And not just for us, but for our families too. Maybe it'd be better if we just… you know, stayed and- and just kept seeing each other. I mean it's not too different to now. We'd just be married to different people."

"I'd rather die than marry Marcus Flint."

"It may very well come to that!" Draco exclaimed, and reached up to run his hands through his hair in frustration, his previous concern for appearances gone. "I'm not sure you've thought this through."

"I'm not marrying that man, Draco," Astoria said quietly, coldly. "I'm willing to risk my life for a chance at a better future, one out of the shadow of the Dark Lord, one where we can be together-" she pressed her lips together, as if trying not to cry. "If you don't think that's worth fighting for, then I can't make you come with me. But I'll still leave."

"Astoria-"

"I _have_ thought this through. _M__y_ mind is made up. I thought yours was, too," Astoria said, her eyes boring into his. "You can take the safe route, walk up that aisle, and marry Millicent Bulstrode like you're _supposed_ to. Or you can take the risky route and leave with me to try for a life you_ want_. What will it be, Draco?"

He took a deep breath, unable to pull his gaze away from hers. Outside, he could hear the voices of the wedding guests assembling in the hall. His mind raced, and yet it still felt too slow to make a decision as important as this one.

His parents were downstairs, blissfully ignorant of what he and Astoria had planned. Maybe their ignorance would spare them. Maybe they could cross the border on time.

His parents, after all, had married for love.

Astoria's hands were on his again, squeezing them tightly. Tears were gathering in her eyes.

"Okay."

"What?"

"Okay. Let's do it."

He thought he heard a door open somewhere outside. Astoria's grip tightened even more, and it was only when relief washed over her face that he realized exactly how terrified she had been that he would decide to stay. He pressed his lips to hers again.

"Let's go," she whispered urgently.

"One moment."

He left a napkin lying in the place where Ginny had been sitting earlier, a note hastily scribbled onto it. When his absence was noticed, and a search party broke off to try and find Draco, Goyle found Ginny sitting quietly in the now empty room.

"Did he say anything to you?" he asked her, utterly confused at his friend's apparent change of heart.

Ginny looked down at what was clutched in her fist. "No."

As her husband walked away, she opened the crumpled napkin and looked down at the note.

_EVERY BATTLE NEEDS FIGHTERS._


	18. Chasing Dreams

**"******Support Staff**"**

_**Summary:**__ "I'm going to be the greatest Quidditch player ever,"_  
_**Prompt(s):**__ Write about your member of staff's reason for wanting to work at Hogwarts_  
_**Rating:**__ K+, __**Genre:**__ General, __**Characters:**__ Rolanda Hooch, OC_, _**World:**__ Pre-Hogwats_  
_**Word Count:**__ 2,999_  
_**Beta:**__ HP-Forever-XX  
_

* * *

**Chasing Dreams  
**

* * *

"I'm going to be the greatest Quidditch player ever," eleven-year-old Rolanda Hooch announced with confidence as she stood around with her class, waiting for the teacher.

"Why? You're not good at anything else," the boy beside her criticised.

"It's in my _blood_, you know? My_father_ was a great Quidditch player too."

"I never heard of a player called Hooch,"

"That's because he was a reserve and then he died, but _if _he had lived he would've been a great star," Rolanda insisted determinedly. "Like _I_ will be, I know it."

"If you're so great, why don't you prove it?" the boy scoffed, folding his arms. "If it's in your blood, you should already know how to fly without the teacher."

"Fine, I will," Rolanda decided, despite the fact she had no idea what she was doing. Still, the boy was right. If it was in her blood then who needed instructors?

Rolanda grabbed one of the brooms laid out on the ground and straddled it whilst the class backed off to give her space. Now, how to make it fly? She started to run to give herself momentum before leaping into the air and trying to will herself to stay airborne. For a second she thought she was actually doing it… before she tumbled painfully to the ground, earning laughter from the others.

"Next person I hear laughing gets a detention. No excuse for unkindness," an unfamiliar adult male voice announced, and the class fell silent. A second later she saw a grey-haired man standing over her, extending a hand to help her up, which she took. "Are you alright?"

"I think so," Rolanda muttered, staring unhappily at the grass in humiliation.

"I appreciate the enthusiasm but sometimes you need to listen before you leap."

"Yes, Professor."

"Actually, it's just Mr. Cobb," the man corrected her, and to her surprise, handed her back the broom. She looked up to see him give her an encouraging smile. "Chin up, kid, you won't get anywhere if you give up the first time you fall down. It wasn't even bad for a first attempt."

"Really?" Rolanda wondered, squeezing the broom nervously.

"Really, you just need to learn to get your balance first so you don't fall out of the sky like that. That's why we start slow and close to the ground."

"Okay, got it." Rolanda nodded in understanding and smiled as her enthusiasm returned. "So what I do first?"

"Go stand back in line with the others so I can start the class," Cobb whispered. She felt her face go red in embarrassment as she hurried back, whilst he turned to address the class. "So, First Years, welcome to Flying…"

Even if she didn't know everything instantly, Flying quickly became her favourite class, and when she waited for Cobb's instruction she did excel. The same couldn't be said for the rest of her classes; being stuck inside, writing at a desk, had always bored her. And still did. The practical aspects made some of it a bit more bearable, but Flying was the only class she looked forward to every week; she could never wait to get back in the air and find out what they were learning next. She wished it was more often; she didn't think she'd enjoy Hogwarts much without it.

Rolanda was disappointed to see it absent from her timetable when she returned for Second Year. Still, she tried to be optimistic. Now she knew how to fly, she could try out for the Quidditch team, and that should make up for it. She wanted to be a Chaser, like her dad. Or a Beater as a backup - that seemed like it could be fun.

Rolanda turned up for the tryout feeling enthusiastic, and her confidence only built as she noticed she was keeping up with older fliers. She could manipulate the broom with ease and dodge the Bludgers well. But when they threw a Quaffle at her, she failed to catch it and was knocked off her broom. She hadn't practiced with the Quaffle; it oddly hadn't occurred to her anything other than flying would be important. She wasn't good at catching, passing, or throwing the Quaffle, nor aiming with the bat.

"Sorry," the Captain offered consolingly. "You don't make the team, not this year."

Rolanda nodded in understanding, not trusting herself to speak lest she lose her composure. The rest of the team, rejects, and spectators, all started filing out, but she continued to stand there. Her head hung as she tried to hold back the tears of disappointment; she didn't want to look like a cry-baby. She waited until everyone else had gone before going to leave, departing the pitch for possibly the last time, because she'd failed to make the Quidditch team. The tears burst from her eyes then; she couldn't stop crying. She fell to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and sobbing. If she couldn't make the Hogwarts Quidditch team she'd never make a proper Quidditch team, she'd never be a great Quidditch player like her dad.

"Are you alright?" a familiar adult male voice asked her gently. She looked up, barely able to make out Cobb as he approached. He'd probably come to clear up the equipment.

"I-I-I d-didn't make the t-team," Rolanda admitted, crying harder saying it aloud. "I-I f-f-failed. I'm nev-never g-going t-t-to b-be a gr-great Qu-Quidditch pl-player l-l-like my d-d-dad."

"There's always next year," Cobb offered gently. He crouched down with a slight cringe, in order to be at her level. "You won't get anywhere if you give up every time you fall or fail. You need to keep trying - you do have some real talent."

"A-At fl-flying b-b-but you need t-to b-be good with Quaffle an-and b-b-bat too! I c-c-can't do that."

"Why not?"

"H-How c-c-can I g-get bet-better w-with them? I d-don't know how or h-have any t-time or an-anything to pr-practice with ev-even if I knew h-how to g-g-get bet-better."

"If you're willing to put in the work, I'd be willing to help you," Cobb said, and she was so surprised she stopped crying for a second, meeting his eyes.

"R-Really? You'd do that?"

"Help will always be given in Hogwarts to those who ask for it, and as a member of staff it is my obligation to help out my students," Cobb confirmed with a kind smile at her disbelief.

She smiled through her tears as he stood and offered her a hand to help her up.

"Come on, I'll work out a schedule when the new teams start booking the pitch. Then I'll know when it's free and you'll be sure to make the team next year.

"Thank you," Rolanda offered gratefully.

True to his word, Cobb did that. Once a week she'd meet him on the pitch for an hour, and they'd work on her skills with the Quaffle and the bat, even occasionally keeping her on form against Bludgers. She was immensely grateful for his time and help; he certainly was her favourite teacher. It wasn't even a proper class but she looked forward to his tutoring. She wasn't sure she'd have gotten through the year if she didn't have something enjoyable to break up the tedious classwork. He really did go above and beyond, and even when she started her Third Year he offered to give her one last practice session before the tryout.

"You're going to knock this out of the pitch," Cobb told her encouragingly, after she hit a Bludger far enough to do just that. She smiled nervously, afraid of getting overconfident like she had last year.

Cobb knew his stuff. She soared through the trials and was the first person confirmed to have made the team as a Chaser; also serving as a backup Beater. It proved to be a fantastic year, and she liked the optional classes too, especially the very outdoorsy Care of Magical Creatures and Hogsmeade. But of course, Quidditch was the highlight.

The practices were multiple times a week so she got to fly more, and found some great friends in her teammates. Finally, she got to play Quidditch. She played and she played, her team smashing their way to victory and winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time since she'd started.

Rolanda didn't see Cobb as much then but she certainly reaped the benefits of his tutoring, even more so in the following year when some of their best players graduated. The replacements weren't up to scratch and after they lost their first match, she made an effort to use what he'd taught her to teach the newcomers. They won their next two matches because of it. Unfortunately it wasn't enough to make up for their initial loss so they didn't get the cup, but they were still a stronger team by the end of the year. In her Fifth Year she made Quidditch Captain and training her team hard, she brought them back to victory.

Unfortunately, it was also the year of her OWLs, and with her focus on Quidditch rather than the more tedious classes, it showed. Teachers started taking her aside to express their concern for her struggling with her OWLs if she didn't prioritise her schoolwork. In the career discussion, even her Head of Year insisted professional Quidditch players were expected to have some OWLs and NEWTs, as well them being a good fall-back if it didn't work out, or if they retired.

It made her feel very stressed; she thought she'd pass the practicals okay, but those written exams… why did there have to be written exams? She didn't think she could do it; just trying to study more was hard and frustrating. But if she failed, she'd never be a Quidditch player. She'd never be anything.

One night she snuck out, fed up with studying, deciding to go over to the pitch and blindly beat her frustration out on the Bludgers.

"Are you alright?" a voice asked abruptly, startling her so much that she almost fell off her broom.

She saw Cobb hovering on a broom beside her.

"What are you doing here?" Rolanda asked in surprise.

"The Gamekeeper noticed Bludgers flying randomly from the pitch, so I thought I should investigate," Cobb explained, looking at her curiously. "So… any particular reason you decided to sneak out after curfew and beat Bludgers?"

"No," Rolanda muttered with an unhappy shrug.

"Come on, I know you better than that. Talk to me."

"I'm going to fail my OWLs," Rolanda admitted hesitantly, hanging her head in shame. "All those written exams - I've never been good at them, and now I'm going to fail and never amount to anything. Beating Bludgers was just making me feel better."

"I know you don't like written work but you've still gotten to your Fifth Year without failing exams yet, have you not?"

"Well… I guess, but OWLs are supposed to be really difficult, and a lot of my other teachers are worried I'll fail. With no OWLs, and no NEWTs, I'll _never_ be a professional Quidditch player."

"I don't know about that. I've refereed all your matches and you always play excellently. Your whole team is pretty solid; you trained them well," Cobb pointed out, and she looked back up at his praise. "Of course teachers are going to stress the importance of grades and yes, they are, but you're still a good player at the core, which no exam can give you. You can always repeat the year or get an equivalency later on in life. It's not the end of world so don't let yourself get so stressed."

"Okay." Rolanda took a deep breath, feeling slightly relieved. "But I'd still rather not fail. I don't know what to do."

"Work out a study schedule and try some techniques. Don't just leave and storm off to beat Bludgers in frustration. I'll help you if you like."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm no genius but I can you help with that. Just, you know, some other time when it's not past your curfew."

"Okay. I really can't thank you enough," Rolanda agreed. She smiled as they flew back to the ground, noticing the fancy way Cobb landed, albeit it with a cringe like it pained him. "Did you ever play Quidditch professionally?"

"Who, me? No," Cobb chuckled with a cough. "I could never face those large crowds. I prefer teaching. It may not be as glamorous, but bringing out the talent in others is rewarding enough for me."

"I-I can understand that," Rolanda admitted, surprised to find she could relate. "At least I like bringing out the best in my team."

Rolanda did go to see him. He helped her work out a better study schedule and found some more engaging ways to help her study, rather than just reading the words off a page. She didn't know whether it was because of him but she passed her OWLs that summer, as well as winning the Quidditch Cup back for her house. The final two Hogwarts years passed by much easier, with her being able to choose which subjects to continue. It meant she had a more manageable workload.

She won the Quidditch Cup both years and passed her NEWTs. She didn't have the best grades, but they were decent enough. Once graduated, she could try out for professional teams like she'd always wanted. She didn't get a place on her father's team, the Montrose Magpies, like she'd wanted, but the Holyhead Harpies took her on as a reserve.

She was happy with this; most professional players started out as reserves. Although she did find herself missing training her team, like she had done as Captain. But she'd have to wait a long time before she'd be able to do that again. She kept in touch with Cobb after she graduated, wanting to keep him informed on her progress.

For a few years she played as a reserve, playing in a handful of matches when she was subbing in, if one of the main team couldn't play. Although she trained daily with the team. Her big break finally came when one of the players announced her retirement and Rolanda was chosen as a replacement. This was it. She was a professional Quidditch player, she'd done it. This was her dream; she'd followed in her father's footsteps and was an actual professional Quidditch player.

"Congratulations," Cobb offered with a kind smile when she told him, going over to visit him as it was the summer. She'd wanted to tell him in person. "I knew you could do it."

"Thanks," Rolanda said, grinning. She didn't think she'd stopped grinning since she'd found out. "I still can't believe it, it's my dream come true. I'd love it if you could come to the match. I'm pretty sure it's before you'd have to get back to Hogwarts."

"Well, I'm thinking of retiring anyway so it might not even be an issue," Cobb pointed out with a cough. The smile finally fell off her face. "I'll certainly do my best to be there. It's nice to see students make it."

"You're retiring? Why? Who will teach the next generation now?"

"I'm _old_," Cobb said, with a weak chuckle that became a cough. "My health isn't… well, it's not as great as it once was, and I don't know if I can handle it anymore. I'm sure they'll find a fine replacement."

"But will they go above and beyond like you do?" Rolanda wondered unhappily. "I don't think I'd have made it this far without your help."

"You give me too much credit. I'm sure my replacement will be just as good. Besides, I haven't made up my mind yet."

Rolanda could only hope he didn't choose to retire. She did believe Hogwarts was a better place with him teaching, and encouraging people like her. Her first match was the summer, and it was a great game to start her professional career out on. She smashed the Magpies, even scoring the winning goals, and could only hope it made them regret their decision not to take her on.

After, she looked to the crowd for her friends and family, but was surprised to see no sign of Cobb, as he'd said he'd be there. It was only after she returned to the locker room that she realized she'd had a letter… Cobb had died last night, that's why he hadn't come.

Rolanda was devastated. It made her victory feel hollow - a victory she felt she'd never have gotten without his support back in the early days of Hogwarts. She found herself thinking about her career, about _his_ career, and wondering who'd teach Flying now, remembering and understanding why he liked teaching. She still missed that. She'd achieved her goal, achieved her dream of being a professional Quidditch player...

Maybe it was time she had a new dream.


End file.
